


a place that exists only in moonlight

by Lediona



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: (lord grantham's car to be exact...), Dancing, Falling In Love, Family, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making out in cars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 03:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lediona/pseuds/Lediona
Summary: This was not the butler Richard had been envisioning and clearly he was not what Mr Wilson expected either, for the old man said nothing in response to this greeting, instead looking Mr Barrow up and down. Richard knew Mr Wilson was unimpressed. The man before him did not meet his expectations for a butler; he looked too young, too insolent, too handsome for Mr Wilson to abide. Without uttering a word, Mr Wilson strode past him into the house, with Miss Lawton following, and Richard witnessed a look of shock flitting across the poor butler’s face. As he passed, he gave the man an encouraging smile for he, too, knew what it was like to be at the receiving end of Mr Wilson’s disapproval. He hoped Mr Barrow found his feet again before the arrival of the rest of the household.***The events of the Downton Abbey film from Richard Ellis's perspective (with a few changes to canon. . .)
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 32
Kudos: 293





	a place that exists only in moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first real Downton Abbey fic! It took me awhile to find my groove writing in this fandom, but I'm proud of the result. I know we are always hoping for a happy ending for our Thomas, and even after the events of the film, I still wanted to give him the romance he deserves. 
> 
> Thank you to these amazing people for helping me shape this fic into something readable: @zigster-ao3, @spleenbacovian, @hotshoeagain, @bluebuell33 and @silentgirlspeaksout! You are fantastic and I greatly appreciate your corrections and suggestions!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it - let me know your thoughts in the comments! And come find me on Tumblr - @lediona25!

The countryside was a blur of green fields and blue skies as the train chugged ever northward, leaving behind a trail of black smoke, some of it creeping into the compartment through opened windows. The good weather continued to hold as they travelled farther from London, but the air was muggier and charged, the current of it zipping over his skin and raising the hairs at the back of his neck. It would be broken, undoubtedly, by a thunderstorm in the next day or two. At the moment, it rendered the train carriage hot and uncomfortable and left everyone inside miserable. 

Richard had long given up trying to converse with his fellow travellers, his patience running thinner than usual. Across from him, Mr Wilson was sorting through a box of papers containing the details of the royal visit to Yorkshire. He had lectured Richard and Miss Lawton for the first hour of the journey but had since retreated to his solitary musings over the absurdly detailed notes on the movements of the King and Queen. On the seat next to him, Miss Lawton was thankfully absorbed in some needlework for he had no desire to engage with her as she was rather prickly at times.

As far as travel companions went, these two were the least desirable ones he could imagine. Unfortunately, the few friends he had on the royal staff were either left behind in London or sent ahead to Harewood. Once they arrived at their destination, Richard would mostly be left to get on with things until the King arrived, but for the next two hours, he was trapped in this stuffy carriage with these rather tedious and disapproving companions. 

They were headed to Downton Abbey, the home of the Earl of Grantham, whom Richard knew by name only, for he had neither seen the man at any of the royal residences nor had the King and Queen previously visited the Abbey, at least not during his employment as valet. However, based on his childhood spent in York, he was aware that it was one of the larger estates in Yorkshire and that the Crawley family held an elevated position in the county. He also knew that the houses of northern England tended to be very traditional in comparison to some of the more southerly estates, and Richard mentally prepared himself to be greeted by a rather naive and provincial staff, headed by an undoubtedly old and stuffy butler. 

Beads of sweat were forming at the back of his neck and he hooked a finger under his starched collar to try to alleviate the sticky discomfort. The effort was unsuccessful so he folded the newspaper he had been reading into an improvised fan. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, imagining that if he held himself completely still he’d feel somewhat cooler. He was certain Mr Wilson was glaring daggers at him for such undignified behaviour as having a nap on the train, and the very idea of his disapproval filled Richard with a spiteful pleasure. 

The train trundled onward and the rhythm of the wheels on the tracks lulled Richard into a doze. They sped past villages and small towns, stopping at an occasional station, the ungainly jerking of the train causing him to surface from sleep briefly as his body swayed with the momentum. After the stop in Doncaster, he fell back into his heat-induced stupor for the remainder of the journey, only to be harshly awakened later by Mr Wilson.

“Mr Ellis,” he barked loudly, “I suggest you make yourself presentable as we are nearly arrived in York.” 

It was clear from his tone that he did not approve of Richard’s decision to nap on the train instead of occupying himself with some mindless task, like Miss Lawton. Suppressing the desire to respond with a clever retort, he nodded and straightened himself in his seat, adjusting his tie and shirtsleeves. Mr Wilson watched him the entire time and uttered a disgruntled ‘hhmpph’ at Richard’s efforts to set himself to rights. Beside him, Miss Lawton shot him a smirk and packed away her sewing kit, stowing it in the bag at her feet. 

Upon reaching the station at York, Mr Wilson disembarked the train immediately and cornered one of the porters, proceeding to dictate what was to be done with the royal luggage that they had in their possession. Richard collected his hat and suitcases from the rack above his seat and strolled over to where the others had gathered. 

Usually when he travelled to York it was to visit his parents, so it was strange now to be passing through the city on royal business instead. Despite the busy few days ahead, he knew he needed to find some time to see his family before returning to London, for it had been too long since he had last returned. Perhaps once Mr Miller arrived, he might slip away for an afternoon. For now, they would be catching a local train to Ripon, where Lord Grantham’s chauffeur would be waiting to take them to Downton Abbey. The remainder of the journey would take no more than an hour and a half, and yet Richard was impatient to arrive; perhaps it was the weather. He longed for an opportunity to shuck his jacket and wash off the coating of sweat and grime from travelling. 

After a short train ride from York, they disembarked at Ripon and were met by two of Downton’s cars. It took a bit of strategy to fit all their luggage into them, but soon they were ready to depart. Gravel now crunched under the tires of the Rolls-Royce as the car approached Downton Abbey. On either side of the drive, well-kept lawns spread out, dotted here and there with trees, hedges and flower beds. It was lush and idyllic, just as he remembered the Yorkshire countryside of his childhood. At the station, he had taken the front seat next to the driver and from his vantage point, he got the first sight of the house as it appeared around a final curve in the drive. 

Despite all his years of working in Buckingham Palace and travelling to other royal residences, Richard was still impressed by the sight of Downton Abbey. It was a beautifully designed building, the limestone glistening in the afternoon sunshine. More modern than some of the older estates, the Abbey was nobly proportioned and perfectly positioned on the hill, from which it ruled the horizon. Richard whistled under his breath in appreciation.

The chauffeur brought the car to a stop near the front door and two footmen immediately appeared to greet them, opening the doors and stepping back silently. Richard slid out, shoes landing roughly on the gravel of the drive, and put on his hat, turning to the rear of the car to gather his suitcases from the boot. A second car laden with Their Majesties' luggage pulled up behind the first and Mr Wilson wasted no time in giving orders to the footmen, who were undoubtedly nervous at the prospect of a royal visit. Finished with his instructions, Mr Wilson abruptly turned and marched off, leaving the footmen to scramble to fulfill them away from his watchful eye. Richard gestured for Miss Lawton to precede him, and they followed Mr Wilson towards the house, where a dark-haired man was just exiting the front door.

“Mr Wilson, welcome to Downton Abbey. I am Mr Barrow, the butler.”

This was not the butler Richard had been envisioning and clearly he was not what Mr Wilson expected either, for the old man said nothing in response to this greeting, instead looking Mr Barrow up and down. Richard knew Mr Wilson was unimpressed. The man before him did not meet his expectations for a butler; he looked too young, too insolent, too handsome for Mr Wilson to abide. Without uttering a word, Mr Wilson strode past him into the house, with Miss Lawton following, and Richard witnessed a look of shock flitting across the poor butler’s face. As he passed, he gave the man an encouraging smile for he, too, knew what it was like to be at the receiving end of Mr Wilson’s disapproval. He hoped Mr Barrow found his feet again before the arrival of the rest of the household. 

Trailing his colleagues through the doorway, he crossed into the grand foyer, with its dark wood panelling, opening up to reveal a stately staircase. Fresh cut flowers decorated the space, giving the air a sweet fragrance. From behind, Richard heard the butler’s quick footsteps approaching.

“Right this way, Mr Wilson,” Mr Barrow said, pulling open a discreet door to the right of the main staircase. The butler stood back, his back straight and chin held high — as though perfect posture could restore order to the house — so that the three of them could pass through and go down the stairs. “I have asked the staff to gather in the servants’ hall, sir.”

The simple white walls below stairs were a stark contrast to the grandeur above stairs, but they were clean and well cared for, which would undoubtedly please Mr Wilson. In a formal line, they descended the stairs. At the bottom, they processed along a long corridor extended off to the right, leading past offices, storage rooms and work rooms, on their way to the servants’ hall. 

Mr Barrow led them through the door and they were met by the full contingent of the Downton staff. Mr Wilson drew up at the head of the long table, giving them all a hard stare, and silence quickly settled upon the room. 

“I am Mr Wilson and I am here to ensure that the visit of His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen to Downton Abbey is a smooth and successful one. If you follow royal protocol and obey my orders, then I envision it going forward smoothly and successfully indeed. This is His Majesty’s valet, Mr Ellis, and Her Majesty’s dresser, Ms Lawton; they have joined me to prepare for the visit. They can stay here or they can put up in the village.”

“No, we can find them rooms,” said and older woman to Mr Wilson’s left. She remained professional but had an undertone of affront at the idea that Downton could not house the members of the royal staff.

Mr Wilson did not seem to notice the effect of his words. He never did. Richard always wondered why he approached the staff of the houses they visited in this manner. Surely it would be easier and better for everyone to make friends, but that wasn’t Mr Willson’s way. To prove Richard’s point, he ignored the woman and continued.

“Mr Courbet, the chef, will arrive on —”

“Excuse me, Mr Courbet, the _chef_?” The Downton cook interrupted.

“Yes, that’s right. We’d be very grateful if you could prepare the kitchens,” Mr Wilson said, as patronising as ever. Richard had taken his place behind the old codger, back against the wall, and from this vantage point he could see all of the staff, and their shocked and outraged expressions as Mr Wilson proceeded to rattle off his outline for how the royal visit was to proceed. The housekeeper and the cook were obviously miffed at being excluded from the preparations for the visit, but Richard could see the lower members of the staff also looking more and more disappointed and irritated as it became clear that they, too, were to have nothing to do with the royal visit. 

After outlining the duties of the royal maids, Mr Wilson was interrupted yet again, this time by Mr Barrow. 

“So you mean that during the stay, you’ll be the butler,” he said, a small frown forming on his face.

At his words, Mr Wilson’s shoulders drew back and Richard sucked in a breath. This did not bode well for Mr Barrow.

“Excuse me, I am not a butler. I am the King’s Page of the Back Stairs,” he declared imperiously.

Richard was certain that Mr Wilson was aiming to intimidate him by this correction; however, his words did not seem to have the desired effect. Mr Barrow, for all that he had been overwhelmed earlier upon their arrival, did not seem all that impressed. In fact, the butler looked like he was suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, settling instead for a mocking upturn of his mouth.

Undaunted, Mr Wilson prattled on. “Along with Mrs Webb, the footmen and the maids, the remainder of the royal household will travel with the King and Queen, including the equerry, a Lady-in-Waiting, the principal valet, the principal dresser, two detectives and two chauffeurs, so rooms must be prepared for them all. Do you all understand me?” Mr Wilson asked after concluding his oration. The Downton staff had a stunned look about them, some overwhelmed and some trying to keep ahold of their anger at being summarily dismissed. “Good, just keep out of our way and everything will go smoothly. Mr Barrow, is there an office prepared for me?”

The muscle in Mr Barrow’s jaw jumped, but he rallied and said, “Please use mine, Mr Wilson,” and ushered him down the corridor, his back unsurprisingly stiff with displeasure. 

Once Mr Wilson was out of the room, the tension seemed to lift and the servants began whispering to each other, casting curious looks at him and Miss Lawton as they lingered in the hall. 

The older women who’d spoke earlier, presumably the housekeeper, called over one of the maids, “Anna, would you show Miss Lawton where she will be staying?”

Anna nodded. “Right this way, Miss Lawton.”

As they departed the hall, Mr Barrow returned. Noticing Richard still standing in the hall, he waved one of the hall boys over. “Robbie, help Mr Ellis with his bags.”

“Yes, Mr Barrow, sir,” Robbie squeaked and snapped into action, dutifully taking Richard’s second case in hand and setting off out of the hall and up the stairs at a clip, soon out of sight.

Richard smiled at his eagerness. “I should have run to keep up with him,” he said to Mr Barrow.

“Forgive him. Always been a touch excitable that boy,” Mr Barrow sighed. “ I’ll show you myself. Right this way, Mr Ellis.”

Richard followed the butler up three flights of stairs, the sound of their footsteps joined by the faint echo of Robbie above them. Eventually they exited the stairwell into a long corridor with wooden wainscotting and simple white-washed doors leading off of it. Robbie was waiting outside one of the doors with his case.

“We have supper after the upstairs dinner so you have plenty of time,” Mr Barrow said over his shoulder as they approached the room. He stepped aside as they entered, allowing Richard to pass him.

“Thanks.”

The room wasn’t much to look at. A narrow bed, neatly made, two dressers, a small mirror hanging on the wall, and one window with utilitarian curtains dampening the last of the afternoon sunshine. It was significantly smaller than his quarters at the palace, not that he was expecting anything close to that here; after all he was just a visitor in this house. Perhaps, as butler, Mr Barrow had a nicer room.

Robbie set down his case on the low dresser near the bed and quickly made his exit. Richard placed his other case at the foot of the bed and unsnapped the latches to begin unpacking. He would have to see to His Majesty’s things before supper, so he wanted to get settled as quickly as possible. 

Mr Barrow was lingering in the doorway, watching him. “How does it work with two valets?” he asked, voice tinged with a note of confusion. 

The requirements for staff in a noble’s house, even one as grand as Downton Abbey, didn’t remotely compare to the pomp and circumstance that accompanied the royal family. Everything was intricately planned and significant fail-safes were put in place for any eventuality, including the need for two valets for the King. 

“I prepare His Majesty’s clothes and uniforms for Downton, and when Mr Miller arrives, I’ll help get the others ready and then head back to London to prepare for their return. It all overlaps,” he explained, taking out his hairbrush, pomade and shaving kit and placing them on the dresser. 

Mr Barrow considered this and asked, “So Mr Miller is the one who actually dresses the King?”

Undoubtedly the other man was just trying to understand how it all worked, but his question caused a frisson of self-doubt to run through Richard, as if Mr Barrow might think less of him knowing that he was only second valet.

“Unless he’s ill, then it’s me.”

Mr Barrow raised an eyebrow. “Is he often ill?” he asked, his tone light and gently mocking. 

Richard felt a blush creeping up the back of his neck. “No,” he replied with a laugh, forcing himself to meet Mr Barrow’s eye.

To his surprise, he was met with a look of understanding and warm humour. Mr Barrow was smiling, the expression transforming his face completely, and Richard had the feeling that, despite holding himself to the respectable standards required of his position, the other man could be quite cheeky when he wanted to be. Richard decided he much preferred this more playful version of the butler than the slightly panicked one who had been overrun by Mr Wilson earlier. Mr Barrow gave him a knowing look and then departed the room. 

After unpacking his things, he attempted to find the main gallery on his own, but ended up asking for help from the housekeeper, whose name he learned was Mrs Hughes. She led him through the corridors to the room where the King would be sleeping and left him to his work. 

When they gathered for supper that night, the tension between the Downton staff and the royal staff hung over the dinner table like the impending clouds that promised rain. Richard felt it as soon as he stepped into the hall, and it was only exacerbated by the awkwardness of having to fit three additional people, whose ranks had to be taken into account, around the table. He could tell that some of the members of the Downton staff were annoyed by having to make adjustments, so he pulled out his chair without complaint and smiled at the ladies’ maid, Anna, who was seated across from him.

Down the table, Mr Barrow presided over the meal from his rightful place at the head of the table and Richard couldn’t help but wonder how irked Mr Wilson was at having to sit next to him. He had the feeling that Mr Wilson assumed he was due every advantage of his station and was put out whenever it was taken from him, even by something as simple as seating arrangements in someone else’s house.

The cook and her assistant entered carrying a tureen of lamb stew and a tray of brown bread, both of which were placed upon the table with perhaps more force than necessary. Richard felt their upset was justified. The cook served Mr Barrow first, giving him a warm smile and saying, “I hope you enjoy it, sir.” Then she filled a bowl for Mr Wilson and set it down in front of him without a word. Richard decided he liked the feisty cook.

***

After breakfast the following morning, Richard set himself up in the boot room, re-polishing all of His Majesty’s shoes that had been sent ahead to Downton. They hadn’t yet been worn since he last looked at them in London, but it gave him something to do to keep his hands busy, and it provided an excuse to turn down any requests for assistance if Mr Wilson was to come looking for him. 

Mr Bates, his Lordship’s valet, had joined him briefly to prepare a pair of Oxfords for Lord Grantham, but he had departed quite quickly, leaving Richard to work in peace once more. The hall boy bustled in and out, clearly sent on an errand for someone else, and too intimidated to make any eye contact or conversation with Richard.

He ran his cloth over the toe of a black riding boot once more, the leather already gleaming due to his ministrations. Cleaning shoes when they actually needed it was a dull task, but it was particularly excruciating when it was an unnecessary endeavour. He was just about to give up the pretence of work when Mr Barrow marched past the door to the boot room. From the set of the other man’s shoulders, Richard could tell he was upset. Curious, he swiftly abandoned the boot and stepped out into the corridor in time to see the tails of Mr Barrow’s coat disappear through the door to the kitchen courtyard. Glancing around to see that no one else was present downstairs, Richard followed him.

When he exited through the door into the courtyard, Mr Barrow was in the process of lighting a cigarette, shoulders drawn up to his ears and breathing heavily. Richard was curious as to what had gotten the man so het up, but they didn’t know each other well enough for Richard to enquire openly.

Instead, he asked a more universal question. “Can you spare a cigarette?”

Mr Barrow turned sharply at the sound of his voice, eyes wide, but he relaxed minutely after recognising Richard. With a nod, he pulled a cigarette case from his breast pocket and held it open so that Richard could select one, and then offered up a silver lighter.

Richard accepted it, lighting the cigarette with old familiarity, and passed the lighter back to Mr Barrow. The smoke burned as he took the first inhale. It had been awhile since he’d last indulged.

They stood in silence. It was companionable enough, but Richard could still feel the waves of irritation flooding off Mr Barrow.

“Are you alright?” he ventured, feeling like it was a safe question, one that was vague enough for Mr Barrow to brush him off if he had no wish to speak about whatever was bothering him. 

"Alright?" Mr Barrow snorted out a laugh. “I should have known they wouldn’t trust me.”

Whatever had happened, it seemed bigger than some petty disagreement. Gently, he asked, “Who?”

“His Lordship, or rather, Lady Mary,” Mr Barrow sneered.

Richard’s curiosity was eating away at him now. He wasn't usually one to gossip, but now he had to know. “What’s happened, Mr Barrow? Why wouldn’t they trust you?”

Mr Barrow exhaled a stream of smoke and glanced over at Richard. “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you,” he said, not sounding like he remotely cared about the possibility of impropriety. “Can’t be letting a member of the royal household know of any discord here at Downton Abbey.”

“You think I’m going to run straight to the King to let him know His Lordship has had a falling out with his butler?”

“I think I’d be more concerned if you went to Mr Wilson.”

Richard huffed in amusement. “As you should be. The King is a kind man; Mr Wilson is too embroiled in the minutiae of his position to be decent.”

“And I don’t think you should be saying that to me,” Mr Barrow said wryly. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t, Mr Barrow,” Richard replied, leaning in conspiratorially, “So what’s happened then?”

Mr Barrow didn’t respond immediately, instead he took another drag and studied the cigarette where it rested between his fingers. Richard noticed that his palm was covered by a fine leather, fingerless glove and he was itching to ask about that, too, but felt he should keep his invasive personal questions to a minimum.

After another minute of silence, Mr Barrow said, “They’ve brought back Mr Carson.”

That didn’t mean anything to Richard. “Who’s Mr Carson?”

“He was butler here until a couple years ago, and now they’ve asked him to come back because they don’t have any faith that I know what I’m doing.”

“Surely they wouldn’t have promoted you to butler if they weren’t pleased with your work.”

“It were a matter of necessity. Mr Carson was having trouble with his hands shaking and the like, so he had to retire. I was an unwanted replacement.”

“You’ve not been sacked, have you?” he asked, suddenly worried. 

Mr Barrow shook his head. “No, I told them I’d surrender my position for the duration of the royal visit and simply. . . left. I was a bit upset and not thinking clearly.”

Richard couldn’t contain the laugh that escaped him. “You mean to tell me you told His Lordship to stuff it and walked out on him? So what exactly are you going to do?”

“Not work?” Mr Barrow offered, shrugging carelessly, a smile playing around his mouth for the first time since he stormed into the courtyard. 

Richard laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve got some brass balls, I’ll give you that.”

Mr Barrow grinned at him, exhaling a stream of smoke.

With a concerted effort, Richard managed to tear his eyes away from him, and gave a cough to cover his nerves. If he stayed in this courtyard a second more, he feared he’d accidentally start flirting outright. With those haunting eyes and sharp cheekbones, Mr Barrow was too handsome by far, even in his current ruffled state. 

Flicking his cigarette away, he said, “I should be getting back. Enjoy your time off, Mr Barrow."

With that, he retreated to the safety of the boot room to tidy away his things.

***

Later that afternoon, Richard sought out Mr Wilson to ask for permission to visit his parents. 

As he approached the door to Mr Barrow’s office, a severe older man stepped out and marched past him down the corridor, looking highly irritated. Richard assumed this was Mr Carson. Seeing him now, this was the butler that Richard had envisioned while on the train, a traditionalist, unyielding and dull. Had circumstances been different, he could see Mr Wilson and Mr Carson getting along famously. As it was, it appeared that they were at odds already. On a purely base level, Richard thought it would be extremely satisfying to watch the two old men fight it out for the remainder of their visit. 

He peered around the doorframe. Mr Wilson was seated behind the desk, decanting wine. This was one of his favourite pastimes; something about the precision and fussiness of the ceremony seemed to appeal to him. 

Richard cleared his throat to get his attention and stepped inside. 

Mr Wilson slowly ceased his ministrations and looked up. “What is it, Mr Ellis?”

“Well, as you know, I am from York originally and my parents still live there, therefore I was wondering if it would be possible to have a half-day tomorrow so that I might visit them?”

A look of displeasure appeared on Mr Wilson’s face. “You are requesting a half-day in the middle of His Majesty’s tour of the north?”

Of course Mr Wilson would make this as difficult as possible. It’s not as though asking for days off was a frequent occurrence for him. Christ almighty. “Well, it has been over a year since I was last able to make the journey, and with Mr Miller arriving tomorrow, the majority of my responsibilities will be transferred to him and I could finish my other duties before departing.”

“If I gave you a half-day, then the others would expect the same, would they not. Or are you expecting me to make an exception for you? Just because your uncle got you a job does not mean —”

“This has nothing to do with my uncle and I am not asking for special treatment,” he replied sharply. The mention of Uncle Johnny caused his hackles to rise. Sucking in a calming breath, he continued, “I am simply requesting an evening to visit my aging parents, whom I have not seen in quite some time.”

Mr Wilson’s mouth pursed as though he were sucking on a lemon and he looked hard at Richard. “You will complete all required tasks before departing and you will be back in time to commence your duties first thing on Sunday morning. Do I make myself clear, Mr Ellis?”

“Yes, sir.” Richard nodded and hastily departed the room, lest Mr Wilson change his mind.

Out in the corridor, Richard leaned against the wall, momentarily gathering himself, fingers tapping an irritated cadence on his thigh. With a silent huff, he turned and marched up the stairs.

His interaction with Mr Wilson left him out of sorts for hours. As a result, he hid away in the room designated for the King, sorting through his uniform for the military parade that was due to take place tomorrow afternoon. He brushed the red jacket, shined the medals adorning its breast pocket, inspected the white plumes atop the helmet, any small task that would keep his hands and mind occupied.

Richard had been a member of the royal staff since he was fifteen, and yet no matter how hard he worked or how high he rose among the ranks, Mr Wilson always seemed suspicious of him. It was hardly Richard’s fault that his uncle had been held in higher regard by His Majesty than bloody Mr Wilson. Even in death, Uncle Johnny seemed to irk him to no end, and Richard by extension as his nephew. 

By the time his foul mood had passed, it was fully dark outside and approaching the hour of the servants’ supper. He put away the last of his tools, gave one final look at His Majesty’s clothing, and exited the bedchamber, turning off the lights and closing the door softly behind him. He slipped into the servants’ stairwell before he was noticed in the gallery.

From just below, he heard the echo of uneven footsteps and he glanced over the railing to see one of the ladies’ maids struggling to walk under a pile of overcoats.

“Wait, let me help,” he called, descending the stairs quickly.

The woman turned at his approach and offered a shy smile. “Oh, thank you, Mr Ellis. It was silly of me to attempt to carry them all at once, but there is so much to do that I didn’t want to make an extra trip back upstairs.”

“I hope they appreciate your diligence, Miss . . sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“Baxter,” she offered.

“Ah, after you, Miss Baxter,” he replied and reached over to relieve her of her burden, draping the coats over his left arm. 

“How are you finding Downton so far?” Miss Baxter asked over her shoulder, as they descended the stairs. 

“It’s a fine house and you have all been very kind, despite the circumstances. It seems as though we should apologise to each of you for the displacement you must feel at our arrival.”

“There’s no need to apologise, Mr Ellis. It’s an honour to have the King and the Queen visit us here, and there is bound to be some differences in protocol when a royal visit is on the horizon,” she said earnestly, turning to face him from the stair below.

“Indeed, but that doesn’t make it easy, and from what I gather there has been some difficulties for other members of the Downton staff, particularly the butler?” Thinking back on their conversation in the courtyard, Richard couldn’t resist the opportunity to gather some additional insight into Mr Barrow’s situation. 

“Oh, yes. It was a surprise to have Mr Carson return, but his experience is welcome,” Miss Baxter replied diplomatically.

Richard didn’t give a toss about old Mr Carson, so he went in with a more direct question. “Where does that leave the other butler, Mr Barrow?”

At that, Ms Baxter’s expression faltered and she pressed her lips into a firm line. “He has offered to step aside for the visit, while Mr Carson is here.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair,” he said, hoping to ingratiate himself with her by demonstrating he understood her reticence about the situation. 

Ms Baxter cast a nervous look down the stairs, as though to assure herself that they were alone, and she said quietly, “Mr Barrow has never had it easy, and I worry that this will be yet another disappointment for him.”

“Do you know him well?”

Miss Baxter nodded. “We've been friends since childhood.”

“Well, then I am glad he has a friend in you. Perhaps once you are done with all these coats, you can spare a moment to spend with him. I’d hate to see his dignity diminished as a result of our visit. He seems to be a competent sort.”

“I’ll do that,” Miss Baxter said, and with a final nod, turned to continue down the stairs.

After depositing the armload of coats in the laundry for Miss Baxter, Richard continued on to the servants’ hall. Upon entering the room, he spotted Mr Barrow himself seated in front of the fire, a newspaper spread out in front of him. It appeared that he had relaxed into his unexpected lack of responsibility. While the rest of the servants were bustling about, either preparing for their meal or clearing up after the upstairs dinner, Mr Barrow ignored them all, his focus on the paper in front of him. Richard wondered briefly if his solitude was a choice or a punishment. In case it was the latter, Richard went to join him by the fire, settling himself into the vacant wooden chair opposite. 

Mr Barrow lowered the newspaper. “Mr Ellis, hello.” 

“Hello again. Are you enjoying your new life of leisure?”

“It has its perks," he replied, leaning back in his chair to cross his legs, shaking out the paper with panache.

Richard laughed. “Anything interesting happen today?”

“Hmm.” Mr Barrow considered the articles in front of him. “An earthquake in China, some scandal with an MP, more about Lindbergh’s flight.” He paused, an uncertain look on his face, before continuing. “I still can’t quite imagine it, crossing the ocean like that. ‘T’were bad enough on a ship.”

“Maybe one day we’ll all travel by aeroplane.”

“Don’t know if that’s for me.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Mr Barrow?” Richard teased lightly.

Mr Barrow scoffed. “Adventure I can bide, but I’d just prefer a mode of transportation closer to the ground.”

“Fair enough. I’m not sure I could stomach a journey by aeroplane either, come to it.”

Mr Barrow had opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by a frazzled-looking Mr Carson.

“The boiler is out again and I must see to it. Perhaps you could be so kind as to help prepare for supper, Mr Barrow?”

Mr Barrow arched an eyebrow. “I’m not on duty, Mr Carson. You are.”

The old man threw a dark look at Mr Barrow and looked as though he was going to say something in response, before reconsidering and turning his attention to Richard. “Mr Ellis, supper is almost ready if you’d like to take your place at the table.”

“Thank you,” Richard said, acknowledging the invitation but remaining in his seat, while Mr Carson marched away to deal with the boiler. He turned back to Mr Barrow and studied the man for a moment; his jaw was clenched and his fingers worked to fold the paper, each movement stiff and aggressive. “Is it always like that with him?” he asked.

“I suppose you think I should have given in to his request.” 

Taken aback by the hard edge to his voice, Richard felt his own defensiveness rise up. “Why would you assume that? I think you have every right to stand up for yourself.”

Mr Barrow stared back at him, a challenge in his eye. “You do?”

“Yes, I do, in fact,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Listen, I’ve been a part of the royal household long enough to know that people tend to lose their heads when faced with a visit from the King and the Queen. They do silly things, treat others badly, go overboard with their preparations, and unfortunately you’re the one who has paid the price in this instance.”

Across from him, Mr Barrow suddenly looked drawn about the edges, tired and sad. It was only a moment before he regained his composure, but Richard had a clear picture of how the treatment he'd received during their stay had affected him. Miss Baxter was on his side, and Richard hoped Mr Barrow knew that he was too. “It’ll pass, and things will return to normal once this circus leaves town, believe me.”

Following a sharp exhale through his nose, Mr Barrow met his eye, a thin smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Richard nodded, not wanting to say anything more about it and add to Mr Barrow’s distress. “Shall we have supper?”

Across from him, Mr Barrow placed the refolded the newspaper to the side and slowly stretched his arms. “I could eat,” he said, affecting ambivalence, as though he didn’t have a meal in this exact hall at this exact time every day of his life. Richard laughed, and Mr Barrow’s lips curved into a more genuine smile. 

They joined the rest of the servants at the table, with Mr Carson at its head now instead of Mr Barrow. He led them all in a short grace and then the kitchen staff served the meal. Richard caught Mr Barrow’s eye once as Mr Wilson bickered with Mr Carson, but otherwise had no other opportunity to speak to the man that evening. 

Later, he lay in the narrow bed assigned to him in the attic, listening to the rain as it lashed against the roof and the windows. Every so often there was a soft rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning. In his sleepless state, Richard spent countless minutes staring up at the ceiling, mapping the bumps and cracks in the plaster by each burst of light that shone through his window. 

His thoughts, however, were centred on a certain dark-haired man, currently sleeping down the corridor from him, and it occurred to him that there could be a secondary purpose for his half-day in York. It was clear that the royal visit was wearing on Mr Barrow, and now that they were both free tomorrow afternoon, perhaps he could ask Mr Barrow if he would like to accompany him to York, to get him away from the Abbey for a bit. He’d still need to look in on his parents, but if was not due back until early Sunday morning, then he could spend most of the evening with Mr Barrow afterward. 

The prospect of asking the question filled him with equal parts excitement and nerves. It was true that he wanted to help Mr Barrow, but his ulterior motive was that he was far too interested in getting to know him. It was a risk, he knew, and his interest may come to nothing, but Christ alive if Mr Barrow wasn’t an intriguing and attractive man. Tomorrow he would have to find a convenient moment, and the courage, to extend the invitation. 

Fortunately, a clear opportunity presented itself sooner that Richard had anticipated.

The next day dawned bright and sunny, a fortuitous start to the royal visit. The King and Queen were due to arrive at midday and the house was abuzz with nervous excitement. 

“Is it always like this?” Anna asked as she entered the boot room. Unlike some of the others, she seemed to harbour a general air of dismayed annoyance as the preparations for the royal visit kicked into high gear. 

The other contingent of the royal staff had arrived mid-morning. Mrs Webb was currently doing battle with Mrs Hughes, their voices echoing down the corridor, arguing about the bedrooms for the King and Queen; over in the kitchen, Mrs Patmore was holding her own against the indomitable Monsieur Courbet; and everywhere there were footmen and maids, both royal and Downton’s own, scurrying about, performing various tasks. And from what he could gather from the chatter downstairs, the ongoing issue with the boiler that was causing no small amount of stress.

The boot room, where Richard was currently stationed, was equally as frenetic. Along with the other staff, more luggage had arrived that morning and Richard was charged with sorting out a box of His Majesty’s shoes; one pair had only been worn once and would require little work, another had some minor water stains that would need some attention. Across from him, Anna and Miss Baxter had set themselves up with multiple pairs of shoes from all the ladies of the house and had been dutifully cleaning, buffing and polishing for the last half hour. Various other staff members had flitted in and out, so the room was a constant hive of activity. 

However, seeing as he was the only member of the royal staff present, he assumed Anna’s question was directed at him. “A royal visit is like a swan on a lake — grace and serenity up above, demented kicking down below,” he explained, pulling out the last pair of shoes from the box and giving it a cursory once-over. 

Anna gave a small smile at the comparison. “It is rather exciting, I suppose, but it must become tiresome after a while. However do you stand it?”

Richard shrugged good-naturedly. “You get used to it, and you learn to tune out certain voices,” he added in an undertone. “But it is nice to get away for a bit, to remind yourself what the real world is like.”

“I wish I could get away,” Mr Barrow muttered from the corner where he’d ensconced himself with his newspaper. Dressed in a dark brown suit, he looked like an entirely different man from the one who’d donned butler’s tails the day before. He appeared to be hiding away, content to read his paper and smoke cigarettes, while the rest of the house devolved into panicked chaos around him. 

“Well, why don’t you? You’re not on duty.” Miss Baxter replied, rubbing a cloth over the toe of a fine taupe leather shoe.

Richard’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. It was now or never. “I’ve got tonight off since Mr Miller will have arrived; told my mum I’d look in. Why don’t you come to York with me? We could have a drink.” He had aimed for friendly nonchalance with this offer, but he feared his eagerness may have shone through for all his effort to suppress it. He glanced up at the other man to gauge his reaction.

Mr Barrow withdrew his cigarette from his lips and as he exhaled a stream of smoke, he tilted his head to the side, considering.

Miss Baxter turned to him. “You should go.”

Still giving nothing away, Mr Barrow glanced at her and they shared a look, one that Richard couldn’t quite decipher, and then he flicked his grey eyes back to Richard. “Okay, I think I will.”

While this had been his hope for the last two days, now that the prospect of spending time alone with Mr Barrow was imminent, he felt his insides turn to liquid. He offered a smile that felt strained and said, “That’s settled then. I’ll come find you when we’ve been released.” 

Suddenly feeling the need to escape the confines of that small room, he closed the box that had contained His Majesty’s shoes, picked up a tin of shoe polish at random and walked to the door, too quickly. Turning back to Mr Barrow, he added, “We can borrow a car.” 

And then he fled. 

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

There were three pairs of shoes waiting to be attended to back in the boot room and yet here he was, standing in the corridor, clutching some shoe polish. He needed to go back, but he was too flustered to do so immediately. As an excuse for his quick departure, he went up to His Majesty’s bedroom, pausing briefly to calm his racing heart, and sought out a pair of shoes that matched the polish in his hands. It provided an explanation, albeit a flimsy one. Only then did he return downstairs.

When he reached the boot room again, it was empty. Anna and Miss Baxter had finished their tasks and Mr Barrow had disappeared to who knows where. At the sudden solitude, Richard sighed in relief and threw himself into the work in front of him, trying his best to ignore the fact that later today he’d be going to York with Mr Barrow.

***

“This way,” Richard said, pushing through the door to the servants’ stairwell and starting down to the gallery below. Mr Miller followed him silently.

The King and Queen had arrived thirty minutes earlier and were currently eating luncheon with the entire Crawley family. The last of the royal household had been shown their rooms, and after giving him a quarter of an hour to settle in, Richard met Mr Miller outside his door to take him down to the bedroom that had been assigned to the King. 

“It’s down this corridor, the fourth door on the left.”

Mr Miller only nodded. He was a very serious man in his mid-50s; he had been the second valet while Uncle Johnny had been alive and took over as the primary valet after his death. He was polite and focused and very quiet, and Richard found working with him very dull. In comparison, Richard, although quite reserved himself, felt positively gregarious. 

He pushed open the door and they entered the room. The parade was due to begin in an hour and they needed to prepare His Majesty’s uniform. Although Richard was certain that he had polished, brushed and mended it to perfection, he knew Mr Miller would want to go over everything himself, and he needed to be present to assist with any last-minute tasks.

“I shall see to the jacket and trousers,” Mr Miller stated, marching up to the wardrobe and locating the garments where Richard had hung them. One by one, he brought them to the valet stand and set about arranging them, moving so slowly that it almost pained Richard to watch. To distract himself, he removed the King’s helmet and plume from their box, fitting the plume in place and rubbing the helmet with a cloth one more time to remove any dust or fingerprints. 

They worked in silence for another twenty minutes, Mr Miller fussing over every inch of the uniform. He’d just deemed it satisfactory when the door opened. The King strode into the room, in good spirits.

“Ah, Mr Ellis, good to have you back with us.”

“Thank you, Sir. I hope it was a good journey from London.”

“I think I’m getting too old for long journeys by motor,” the King replied, removing his jacket and handing it off to Richard. “But they can’t be helped.”

“Your Majesty, we don’t have much time before the parade,” Mr Miller said, hovering near the valet stand, anxious to start dressing the King. 

The King nodded, and they set to work.

Later, Richard stepped into the corridor with a sigh of relief and a sense of anticipation. He was free for the next fifteen hours. It felt particularly luxurious considering the fact that the rest of the servants were just gearing up for the parade and the formal dinner this evening. Richard got to avoid them both.

Following the servants’ lunch, he would be meeting up with Mr Barrow to depart for York, giving him just under a half an hour to get ready. He walked swiftly back up to his room. 

As absurd as it was, he felt more nervous about tonight than he remembered feeling in a long time. There was a possibility that he was getting ahead of himself and his interest in Mr Barrow was misplaced, but regardless of what ultimately happened between them, he was determined to enjoy their time together. Still, he wanted to look his best.

He pulled out a fresh shirt from his dresser and selected the only one of his personal suits that he had brought on this trip - a dark grey wool with a fine pinstripe. Stripping out of his livery suit, Richard gave himself a cursory wash at the basin, running a cloth across the back of his neck and under his arms, and then slipped on the clean white shirt. Next came his trousers, braces, jacket, and tie.

He was looking in the mirror, adjusting the knot of his tie, when a knock sounded at his door.

“Yes?” he called out.

The door opened to reveal Mr Barrow, who cast an eye down the corridor before saying, “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Richard replied, running a soothing hand down the front of his jacket, surprised at his sudden appearance.

Mr Barrow nodded and turned to close the door. Being alone in his bedroom with Mr Barrow was unexpected and caused a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach, but Mr Barrow was all business.

“I have a favour to ask, if I may?”

Confused but intrigued, Richard said, “That depends on what you’re asking for.”

“I am aware that we’ve only just met, but it strikes me that you’re not one to shy away from a bit of harmless fun, especially if it meant that you could pull one over on Mr Wilson. Am I correct?”

“What are you plotting, Mr Barrow?”

A conspiratorial grin appeared on the other man’s face. “It’s not just me. It’s all of us, the Downton staff, I mean. They want to take the house back; you know, serve the King and Queen as they had expected to, before the Royal Household turned up and disabused them of the notion.”

“I thought you were annoyed with them?” Richard queried, thinking about Mr Barrow’s reaction to the reappearance of Mr Carson and his absolute refusal to do any work over the last two days. 

“More with Lady Mary and her loyal gofer Carson. The rest of them are all right,” Mr Barrow clarified. “Anyway, I’ve told them I’d help by getting rid of the royal footmen, and you seem like the man who could help me do it.”

“What do you want me to do, tie them up and toss them in the cellar?” Richard suggested with a laugh.

“Probably best not to leave the evidence on the doorstep, Mr Ellis.”

“Quite right.”

Mr Barrow raised an eyebrow. “So you’ll help?”

As if he could say no. With a rueful shrug, he said, “Let me think about it over lunch and we’ll enact whatever dastardly plan we’ve concocted before we go to York.”

With a nod, Mr Barrow said, “Very good. I’ll leave you to it.” 

And with that, he departed the room, leaving Richard to wonder about what he’d just agreed to and realising he didn’t care in the slightest. 

All through lunch, Richard’s mind came up with various ideas for helping Mr Barrow and dismissed them one by one as he realised their numerous flaws. It wouldn’t work to simply trick the footmen; there were too many of them and if they talked to each other, then they were bound to figure out that they were being fooled. The order had to come from above, so the only option was to focus on Mr Wilson, but how to convince him to send the footmen away? 

He was lifting a forkful of potatoes to his mouth when the solution to the problem came to him. 

Sir Harry Barnston. 

No one ignored orders from the Comptroller of the Household.

Following the meal, Richard was held up by Mr Miller asking where he had put His Majesty’s sash for dinner (hanging inside the right hand door of the wardrobe) and if there was a trick to getting hot water out of the tap (waiting for the plumber to fix the boiler). Finally, when Mr Miller trundled off, Richard took the stairs two at a time, gasping for breath when he got to the servants’ quarters at the top, in order to retrieve his overcoat and hat.

Upon re-entering the servants’ hall, Richard found Mr Barrow once again seated by the fireplace, flicking through a newspaper, which seemed to be his go-to activity during his unexpected holiday from work. Richard distantly wondered about the articles that caught Mr Barrow’s attention today, but dismissed the thought to focus on the task at hand.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Lifting his eyes from the page, Mr Barrow casually flicked his gaze over to Richard. “I was wondering where you’d got to. Thought you may have gotten stuck doing Mr Wilson’s bidding.”

“He’s currently doing battle with Mr Carson up in the dining room, so I managed to escape his notice,” Richard replied, unable to resist the temptation to fall into the easy repartee they’ve established over the last couple days. “Shall we depart? After all, we have business to attend to, no?”

With a quick glance around the still-empty hall, Mr Barrow quirked an eyebrow, “You’ve figured out a way?”

“I think I have,” Richard said, and there was a flicker of excitement in Mr Barrow’s eyes. Richard was pleased to have caused it. “Let’s go get the car and I’ll explain.”

“Well, colour me intrigued,” Mr Barrow said with a smirk, setting aside the paper and levering himself out of the chair. His overcoat and hat were resting over the back of it and he threw them on as they headed to the door. 

Before they could reach the freedom beyond it, a voice called after them down the corridor: “Is that you off to York, Mr Barrow?”

Both he and Mr Barrow turned at the question. It was Mrs Hughes. She walked closer, a soft smile on her face. Unlike the royal housekeeper, Mrs Hughes seemed like a kind, gentle soul, almost loving. Richard suddenly wished he’d had someone similar to work with throughout his time in service. Perhaps it would have made being away from home at such a young age easier. Although Uncle Johnny had done his best to keep an eye on him in the palace, having someone to cluck over him like his own mother might have helped ease the loneliness a bit.

“Yes, Mrs Hughes,” Mr Barrow replied, seeming reluctant to engage in the conversation.

Beside him, Richard felt himself nodding in support. “I’ve managed to get use of a car for the evening, so we’re just off to collect it now. And it’s a lovely day for a drive.”

“That it is, Mr Ellis,” Mrs Hughes agreed. “Well, I hope you enjoy your wee jaunt to York while the rest of us quake in our boots before tonight.” 

This complaint was said in jest, and Richard thought she did truly wish them well. Knowing what he did of their plans for the evening, he thought Mrs Hughes looked something of a general bearing up before a battle. He wouldn’t like to stand opposite her, and the idea of Mr Wilson and the others reeling in the wake of her determination made him grin.

“I look forward to hearing about the evening upon our return,” Richard said with a wink, placing his hat on his head.

Mrs Hughes’ face gave nothing away. “I am certain it will go off without a hitch,” she said, and then waved them away, a gentle hand landing on Mr Barrow’s forearm briefly. “Away with you now.”

Mr Barrow found his voice at last. “Thank you, Mrs Hughes. Tell everyone ‘good luck’ from me for tonight.”

“I’ll do that, Mr Barrow.”

“Goodbye, Mrs Hughes,” Richard said, nudging Mr Barrow with his elbow to propel him out the door.

As they made their way to the garage, Richard cast a glance at Mr Barrow. He seemed strangely subdued following their interaction with Mrs Hughes. He couldn’t imagine anyone not liking the kindhearted housekeeper, so Richard doubted that Mr Barrow was uncomfortable in her company. Besides, she had touched his arm in a familiar manner, one that implied a certain level of closeness between the two. Perhaps he just felt guilty about leaving them all to deal with the royal visit on their own, but then he had been eager to get away when Richard had proposed the trip. Instead of enquiring about the reason behind Mr Barrow’s mood, he opted to distract him instead.

“Is there a telephone that I can use, one that is away from the Abbey?”

Mr Barrow had been strolling along beside him, quiet with hands in his pockets, but at the question, a look of mischievousness stole across his face.

“At the post office in the village.”

Richard nodded. “That will be our first stop then.”

They reached the garage and the chauffeur gave Richard the keys to an older model Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, one that was no longer used regularly by the family. The dark grey exterior was still polished to perfection and the idea of driving a car like this gave Richard a small thrill. It was rare that he drove at all, outside of his father’s truck on those occasional visits home, so this was a treat.

Settling into the driver’s seat, he flexed his fingers around the steering wheel and grinned at Mr Barrow. “Let’s go cause some trouble.”

Mr Barrow smiled in return, some of his previous reticence melting away. “So what is the plan then? How will we remove the footmen from the equation?”

Richard nodded, rather pleased with himself. “Since you've ruled out simply trussing them up in the cellar, I thought it was best to remove them from Downton altogether.”

“That sounds rather ominous. You’re not planning to off them, are you?”

At Mr Barrow’s mock-suspicious tone, Richard couldn’t help but laugh. “Do I seem the murderous type?”

“No, not really.” Mr Barrow gave him a thoughtful once-over. “But then we did just meet a couple days ago. Who knows what secrets you could be hiding.”

“We all have our secrets, Mr Barrow. But I can say, quite honestly, that murder has never been one of mine, and I have no intention to start now.”

“That puts my mind at ease, Mr Ellis, truly,” Mr Barrow dryly rejoined. “So if not murder, then what?”

Still chuckling at the ridiculous turn this conversation had taken, Richard detailed his plan, which, true to his word, did not include murdering or causing any bodily harm to the royal footmen.

He parked the car in the village square and Mr Barrow led him to the post office, where a public telephone was situated on the wall. He got permission to use it from the worker behind the desk and, picking up the receiver, asked to be connected to Downton Abbey. 

While the call was being connected, Richard leaned back against the wall so that he could look at Mr Barrow, who was hovering closely behind him, emanating waves of nervous giddiness. On the other end of the line, a fuzzy voice said, “Downton Abbey” and Richard cleared his throat before saying, in a voice very much not his own, “Sir Harry Barnston for Mr Wilson please.”

Richard had never considered himself an actor, but he found that it was great fun to imitate Sir Harry, especially when Mr Wilson was so obviously confused and flustered at the other end of the line about the non-existent ball at Clarence House that Richard just made up. 

“What am I supposed to do here?” came Mr Wilson's befuddled response to being told to send the footmen on ahead to London.

“Don’t they have footmen at Downton?” Richard drawled, allowing a sense of annoyance to seep into his tone.

“Yes, there are footmen here, but what will His Majesty —”

“His Majesty won’t care who serves his meal. Do as I say!” Richard barked out, relishing the opportunity to give orders to Mr Wilson. Mr Barrow was watching him, eyebrows rising at witnessing Richard’s gamble at fooling the old man.

At the other end of the line, Mr Wilson spluttered, “Yes, Sir Harry, right away.”

Instead of replying, Richard simply hung up the phone. Best to not allow room for any further questions. Upon setting the receiver back in its cradle, Richard met Mr Barrow’s eye and the mutual thrill of successfully pulling one over on the King’s Page of the Back Stairs caused them to erupt in giggles. 

They tumbled out of the door of the post office, still laughing.

“I’ll get chucked out of the household if they ever find out,” Richard said, catching his breath and focusing on putting on his gloves as they walked back towards the car.

“Well, you sounded convincing to me,” Mr Barrow said, a private smile appearing on his face.

“I’m very good at doing Sir Harry Barnston, I can assure you.” His brain suddenly registered the possible innuendo and Richard felt himself start to go red at the thought.

Thankfully, Mr Barrow seemed not to notice and asked, “What if Mr Wilson rings back?” 

“No one queries Sir Harry’s orders,” Richard assured him.

“But what if they did?”

Mr Barrow’s nervous concern was oddly endearing, and Richard supposed he should feel more anxious about this plot than he did in actuality. “Well, then they’d uncover the trick, but they couldn’t trace it back to me.”

Under the guise of self-assured bravado, Richard was pleased to note the look of admiration Mr Barrow gave him. By all accounts, Richard should not be siding with the Downton staff, but there was something intoxicating about performing this favour for Mr Barrow. It surrounded them with a cloak of complicity, and the closeness was unexpected and so very welcome. 

“Right, shall we go to York?” he asked as they approached the Silver Ghost.

Mr Barrow shrugged. “I’m sorry to miss out on all the fun in a way.”

“Then let’s make our own fun,” Richard replied, throwing open the door and clambering back inside the car, a smile on his lips and a sense of carelessness in his bones. 

By motor, the journey from Downton to York was nearly an hour. They chatted easily, discussing current events and books they’ve read, swapping stories about the horrors of service, laughing about their part in deceiving Mr Wilson, and wondering about how things were playing out back at the Abbey. 

As they approached the city, the rolling green hills gave way to a twisted warren of cobbled streets, Georgian blocks of flats, factories and warehouses, and a reminder of the city’s past in the form of York Minster, which dominated the skyline. 

“So where shall I wait for you while you’re with your parents?” Mr Barrow asked as they approached the high street.

“I know a pub. Barman is a friend of the family. If you mention our name, he’ll probably be serving up pints on the house. Bit of a chancer is ol’ Bill, but he’ll look after you, no doubt about it.”

“Decent food there too?”

“Oh, aye. It’s all simple fare, but Bill’s got the best steak pies in York by my estimation,” Richard said, navigating the car onto Davygate and pulling over in front of the Crown Pub. “My parents live up beyond the Minster, so I’ll have to leave you here. It’s not far to the river and there’s some ruins of a Roman bathhouse nearby, if you want to go for a wander before enduring Bill’s chat for the evening. You’re sure you’re okay on your own, Mr Barrow?”

“Now that we’re away from Downton, perhaps you can call me Thomas?”

“Right you are, Thomas,” Richard said, giddy at the prospect of dropping the formality that usually governed their interactions. “In that case, I’m Rich. Well, Richard according to my mother, but my friends usually go with Rich.”

“I’ll leave ‘Richard’ to your mum and just call you Rich, if that’s all right?”

Richard laughed, struck by how he most definitely didn’t want to group Thomas and his mother in the same thought. “Perfectly all right. Well, I’ll be off then. I can meet you back here in a few hours?”

“I think I can occupy myself for that long,” Thomas replied, gathering his hat from where it had rested on the dashboard and opening the car door onto the pavement. “See you later, Rich.”

“Bye, Thomas.”

Thomas shot him a quick grin before closing the door, and stepping away from the car. 

Richard forced himself to shift the car back into gear and drive off towards the Gillygate, lest he remain there, staring after Thomas like a schoolboy with his first crush.

***

He was certain that his mother was smaller than the last time he’d visited. She fitted easily into his embrace, fine bones sharp through her dress. It was a hard realisation to watch one’s parents getting older. His father was still a tall man, but there was a tiredness about him now. The sight of the pair of them, standing side-by-side in the entrance hall of his childhood home filled him with a profound regret for not living closer and taking care of them.

As she drew back from their embrace, his mother looked up into his face, eyes glassy, and said, “Oh, my boy.”

Richard smiled down at her and squeezed her hands, silently trying to reassure her that everything was okay. She was always a worrier, and she had taken it very hard when he had accepted a position in the royal household, despite the long years of schooling and preparation under the guidance of Uncle Johnny. It had been nearly twenty years since he’d moved out, but each time he visited, he got the sense that she wished he’d remained in York.

He removed his hat and overcoat, hanging them on the coat stand in the small entryway, alongside those of his father; his mother’s prized umbrella, a gift he’d purchased at Harrods a few years back, rested at the bottom. The house had not changed much since his childhood, and there was something comforting about its constancy.

“Supper’s nearly ready,” his mother said, waving him and his father towards the small dining room. “Go sit down and I’ll bring it through.”

He took his usual place, his father clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by on his way to his own chair. 

Once they’d settled, his father asked, “How are you, Richie? How is the visit going?”

“Chaotic, as usual, but His Majesty seems pleased thus far, so I suppose that’s what is important. They’re staying at Downton Abbey tonight and then off to Harewood for a ball tomorrow. No time to rest. In fact, it took some effort to convince Mr Wilson to let me away for the evening.”

“Well, I’m glad you managed it, and so is your mother. It does me well to see you.” His father had a soft smile on his face as he looked at Richard.

“Me too, Da.” 

Just then his mother bustled in carrying a serving tray. “What’s this about difficulties coming to visit?”

“Oh, you know how Mr Wilson is. He just likes to assert his authority,” Richard replied with a shrug, attempting to downplay the situation so his mother didn’t get too wound up about it. “But Mr Miller arrived today and my duties are minimal, so he didn’t have much of an argument. Regardless, I’m here now, and happy for it.”

“As are we. Now, pass over your plate and I’ll get you something to eat. You must be hungry.”

He did as she asked and she busied herself piling his plate full of food, arranging everything just so. The meal that she had prepared was a simple one of roast chicken and potatoes, much less grand that the food he was used to at the palace, and yet there was something so soothing about a home-cooked meal that his mouth watered in anticipation. She handed the heaping plate back to Richard and then picked up his father’s, ignoring his attempts to help.

“When do you need to be back?” his father asked, letting his mother do as she wanted in serving his meal.

When the question came, he'd been lifting his fork to his mouth so he popped in the bite of chicken, chewing slowly to give him some time before answering. Given how happy they were to have him home, he thought they would be disappointed that he had other plans this evening which would draw him away.

Serving completed, his mother took her chair, and his parents tucked into their meal.

Swallowing with some difficulty, Richard said, “I’ve brought one of Downton’s staff into York with me; he also had a half-day, so I’ve said that I would meet up with him for a drink later.”

“Where is he now? You could have brought him for dinner, there’s plenty to go round," his father said, voice light yet earnest. 

Across from him, his mother sniffed and he glanced up to see her mouth press into a firm line. 

“That’s kind, but it was decided at short-notice and I didn’t want to impose. I sent him to the Crown. Figured Bill would look after him.”

His father nodded. “That he will. Well, don’t worry about us, whenever you need to get away is fine.”

“I’ll stay on for a bit,” he said and, wanting to keep the peace, added, “I’ve come to see you, after all.” He smiled at his mother and then focused on the plate in front of him.

After a moment, his mother said airily, “Sarah McInnes had another baby last month.” 

Richard fought the impulse to roll his eyes. Instead he said, “Give her my congratulations when you next see her.”

His mother nodded, lips pursed, then said, “That could have been you, Richard.”

He should have known that she wouldn’t drop this subject. Every time he visited or received a letter from his mother, she included notes about Sarah or Victoria Travers or another of the neighbourhood girls he’d grown up with; he knew about their weddings and children despite not having seen any of them in person for nearly 20 years. He ignored her, and despite his increasing anxiety causing his food to congeal unpleasantly in his stomach, he continued to push bites of food into his mouth faster than he could adequately chew and swallow them. When he didn’t respond, she continued, undaunted.

“When are you going to settle down with someone? I worry about you, my dear, all alone down there in London.”

“Let him be, Alice,” his father said, pausing in the cutting of his chicken breast. “The lad has enough to be thinking about being in service to the King. No need to add to his burden. Besides, John did well enough for himself all those years. No reason it can’t be the same for our Richie.”

He was grateful for his father’s unwavering support and his ability to smooth over the tense moments that always cropped up between him and his mother. He had a suspicion that his father was very aware of why this subject was such a difficult one for Richard; after all, Uncle Johnny was his elder brother. They’d never spoken about it openly, but the idea that his father knew about him and was supportive regardless offered him some comfort. 

And so, even knowing that he could never guarantee a wedding and grandchildren, he wanted to assuage some of his mother’s concerns for his well-being. “Mum, I am fine, truly, but I’ll try to get back up more often so you can see for your own eyes.”

“That would be nice,” she conceded eventually, primly smoothing non-existent wrinkles in the table cloth. 

Taking this as a peace agreement, Richard offered her another small smile and turned his attention back to his father. “How are things at the shop?” 

“Oh, we’re getting on well enough. Training a new apprentice, as I’m sure your mother mentioned in her last letter. James Bairstow’s boy. He’s not got your nimble fingers, but he’ll pick it up in good time.”

His father was the preeminent hatter in York and Richard had spent most of his childhood, when not in school, assisting his father in the shop. He’d had a knack for the careful sewing needed for making hats, which had served him well in his training to be valet. Richard was certain that his father had entertained thoughts of him taking over the business at some point, but he’d handled the suggestion of Richard following in Uncle Johnny’s footsteps with grace, and helped him to pursue a position in the royal household. Occasionally, Richard wondered what life would be like had he not left for London but stayed on to work alongside his father instead.

They spent the rest of the meal discussing his father’s work and general goings-on in York. His mother happily told him the latest gossip about Mrs Harden, their elderly neighbour who always seemed to be the cause of some trouble. With the retelling of this story, Richard felt that the earlier disagreement between them had been forgiven. Once they’d finished eating, his mother made a pot of tea to accompany some ginger biscuits she’d made earlier in the day. Before he knew it, it was going on eight o’clock.

As his parents put away the things from dinner, he excused himself and went into the front hall, shutting the door behind him. The telephone he’d had installed for them was perched on a small cherrywood table with carved spindle legs. Picking up the receiver, he asked for Fitzroy 247 at the operator’s prompting. She connected him and the phone rang twice before it was picked up at the other end. 

“Hello, Fitz speaking,” said a clear voice, sparkling with good humour.

Richard grinned at the sound. “Fitzy, it’s Rich.”

A loud delighted laugh echoed down the line. “Well, colour me surprised. What are you doing here, lad?”

“A flying visit only, Fitzy, though I’m in York for the evening. Where’s it blowing tonight?”

“Well, if our Richie isn’t looking for a bit of trouble then!”

Richard huffed and said, “We’ll see about that. Depends on how the rest of my evening goes first. Where will you be later?”

He still wasn’t certain about Thomas's level of interest, whether he was just being friendly or if he was that way and possibly keen on Richard. But he figured it’d be a good idea to know where the party was just in case things progressed as he hoped.

Fitz replied, “Turton’s. Off Coney Street. Had to move somewhere new a few months back.”

The threat was always real for men like them and Fitz had an ear to the ground for any trouble, but it helped to move the party around occasionally. Less likely to draw attention from the local coppers. 

“All okay then?”

“No problems lately. Will we see you later?”

“Hope so,” Richard replied before ringing off.

The mere possibility of taking Thomas with him to Turton’s made him shiver with anticipation, but he tried, as best he could, to suppress his imagination. He was determined to enjoy the evening wherever it led. But first he had to say goodbye to his parents, so he went through to the kitchen, where he received a hug from them both and departed with yet another promise to visit again soon. 

When he entered the Crown twenty minutes later, he was greeted by a wave of warm, stale air and a shout from Bill behind the bar, where he had been chatting to a few of the patrons seated nearby. At his welcome, a familiar silhouette swivelled towards the door and upon recognising Richard, Thomas's face split into a grin. 

Richard wove through the tables to tuck up on the stool beside Thomas's, draping his overcoat over the back and throwing his hat down on the bar.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d turn up,” Bill said, holding out his hand so he could shake Richard’s. “What’ll it be?”

“A pint of whatever he’s having is fine,” he replied, nodding towards Thomas's half-empty drink where it sat on the dark wooden bar. “Fancy another one?”

Thomas eyed his drink and then shrugged. “Why not?” Bill nodded and pulled out a second glass, wiping it down before filling it from the tap, setting both glasses down in front of them. Thomas took a long drink, nearly finishing his previous pint, and then turned to Richard. “How was dinner?”

“Nothing beats a home-cooked meal, right? Especially one served with a side of guilt,” he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. 

Thomas sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Richard instantly regretted that comment; he didn’t want any sympathy or pity. It wasn’t Thomas's fault that he was torn over the decisions he’s made in his life, nor was it his problem that Richard’s relationship with his mother was strained, so he added, “Though it is always nice to go home and spend time with the folks. It doesn’t happen often enough, and I know they like to see me.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

Richard shook his head. “No, it’s just me.” He thought briefly about Hal, but didn’t want to bring up the little brother who’d only lived for three days. It wasn’t the right moment for that; they were supposed to be having a fun time tonight.

“How about you, do you have siblings?” he asked instead. 

A dark look flickered across Thomas's eyes and he knew he’d asked the wrong question. 

“I’m the eldest of five,” he said quietly, fiddling with the full pint in front of him. “I haven’t seen them since I went into service though.” 

Richard’s heart felt heavy. He assumed Thomas had been a teenager, like himself, when he went into service, meaning he’d not seen his family in over two decades. No matter how difficult his relationship was with his mother at times, he was grateful that his parents were still a part of his life. To know that Thomas had been estranged from his family for so long was agonising; something must have occurred to sever their connection permanently. 

“I’m sorry, Thomas.” _For whatever happened between you and your family and for asking about it_, Richard added in his head. 

Thomas shrugged. “It’s in the past, but thank you.”

They lapsed into silence, sipping their pints, lost in their own thoughts. After a moment, Richard shook off the discomfort and attempted to lighten the moment. “Enough of that. Tell me what you got up to while I was with my parents.”

Thomas seemed grateful for the switch in topics and happily told him about his walk up to the Minster before he’d returned to the pub for a dinner of steak pie.

“And did Bill come through? I hope I didn’t set your expectations too high,” he joked as the barman sauntered over to them.

“What’s that you’re sayin’, Richie? Are you questioning my food, lad?”

“Well, I told my friend here that he’d be able to get a good meal from you, but it’s been quite some time since I’ve been able to sample your food, so I may have been mistaken in my recommendation.”

“The cheek on you. Don’t make me chuck you outta here!”

Richard laughed. “You would never.”

Bill looked at him smugly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

From beside him, Thomas piped up, “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Oh, aye, there is. Right troublemaker, this one.”

Richard realised that this had been a terrible idea. Nothing would stop Bill from regaling Thomas with embarrassing stories of his youth.

“Is that so? And he seemed so respectable, being part of the royal household and all,” Thomas said, feigning surprise but smirking delightedly at Richard.

Richard gestured at Bill to get on with the inevitable. The old man happily obliged. 

“Well, see, I’ve known his da my whole life, and this one was always following him about, playing with his little wooden boat in yon corner over there, while me and Jack caught up at the end of the day, until his mum came along to collect him for bed. As he got older, Richie’s curiosity started to get the better of him, always getting into things that weren’t meant for him.”

“Like you were any different when you were young. My da's told me stories.”

Bill ignored him and continued his tale. “When he was about thirteen or fourteen, not long before he went down south, he came in one night with some of his mates, begging some fried potatoes off me as a snap. I give them to him, because I’m a kindhearted fellow, but while I’ve got my back turned, he sneaks behind the bar and nicks a bottle of whisky. It takes me awhile to realise it’s gone, but I finally do and then I notice that they’re acting dodgy. He and his friends have been passing it back and forth, and when I go over to investigate, they’re all squiffy. Don’t take much to get a bunch of scrawny wee devils absolutely ratted.”

By this point, Thomas is laughing outright, nodding along to encourage Bill’s narration of one of Richard’s less than finest moments.

“So I try to take the bottle off him, but this rapscallion starts flappin’ about like an eel to escape with the whisky and I end up having to chase him about the pub, the whole place roarin’ with laughter. Eventually I catch him by the scruff of his neck and manage to whisk the bottle out of his hand - it helped that he only came up to my chin at the time, not the tall thing he is now - and I boot him out the door and tell him to go home. His friends followed, tails between their legs.”

Richard groaned and downed the rest of his pint.

“How’d your dad take it when you turned up drunk?” Thomas asked.

“Oh, but that’s the best bit!” Bill exclaimed, grinning fiendishly over at Richard. “Twenty minutes later, his da marches him back in here by the ear and makes him apologise for nicking the whisky in the first place, and then tells me to put him to work. Richie spent the evening washing dishes and sweeping floors, and he was only sick once.”

“If you’re going to continue with the embarrassing stories about my misspent youth, pour me another pint.”

“At least you can hold your alcohol now,” Bill commented, already pulling another pint for him.

“And you aren’t the only one who made some poor choice as a kid,” Thomas said, nudging Richard’s arm with his elbow.

Interest piqued, Richard raised an eyebrow. “Do tell, Mr Barrow.”

“Oh, so we’ve got two troublemakers in the house tonight,” Bill chortled before turning away and serving someone at the other end of the bar.

Thomas watched him walk away, laughing, and then turned his attention back to Richard. “Well, let’s just say I was a bit of a schemer in my youth, constantly plotting and stirring up trouble. I think I was a bit bored and angry when I first entered service, didn’t know how to keep my head down.”

“Oh, aye? Did you steal some whisky as well?”

“Nicked some wine once,” Thomas admitted with a shrug, “But that’s not nearly as interesting as the time I kidnapped His Lordship’s dog just so that I could be the one to find her and win some favour with the Earl.”

Richard grinned, picturing young Thomas hiding a dog away somewhere on the grounds of the Abbey. “And did it work?”

“In the end, yes, but not before the bloody dog escaped from where I’d tied her up, meaning I had to actually search for her before bringing her back home.”

“Well, at least you landed on your feet in the end.”

Thomas nodded but said, “It indicative of how most of my plots were executed — that is, poorly. Nothing ever went to plan, but I scraped by nonetheless.”

“You are a cat with nine lives.”

“Probably on my last life by now.”

“Well, let’s make it a good one then,” Richard said, raising his glass to knock it against Thomas's. 

Thomas looked at him, eyes dark in the dim lighting of the pub. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, voice sounding lower than normal. Richard’s heart rate ratcheted up and he forgot how to breathe for a second. 

He stared at Thomas, trying to discern the meaning behind his question. Was he flirting or was it said in jest? The odds of a butler in Yorkshire being like him seemed awfully small, but he was certain there was something more here, a flirtatious undertone to Thomas's glances and teasing. However, it seemed too good to be true that a striking man like Thomas would not only be interested in men but interested in him specifically. He was still deliberating when Thomas cocked his head, haughty but enquiring.

Deciding to take the risk, Richard finally choked out, “Do you want to go somewhere?” 

Thomas stared at him intently, and then said, “Yes.” 

His assent shocked Richard into action. “Finish your pint and stumble a bit when you get up,” he murmured.

An incredulous look passed across Thomas's face. “Why?”

“Just do it,” he said, taking a few gulps of his new pint before abandoning it and pulling on his overcoat. Next to him, Thomas rose from his stool and tipped sideways so he bumped into Richard’s shoulder.

“Bill,” he called out, flagging down the barkeep. “We’re going to head out. I’ve got to get this lightweight back to the Abbey.”

“The abbey? Is he a nun?” Bill asked with a booming laugh.

Affronted, Thomas said, “I’m a butler!”

Richard barked out a laugh and pushed Thomas towards the door. “What do we owe you?" he asked, but the barman waved him off. "Good to see you, Bill, and thanks!” Richard called over his shoulder.

“You too, lad.”

Thomas did his part by affecting a convincing drunken shuffle out onto the pavement, and as soon as the door shut, he straightened up and turned to Richard with a grin. “How was that?”

“You’re a fine actor, Thomas,” he said, then paused and looked at the other man speculatively. “Unless you really are a lightweight.”

“I don’t think you’re one to talk.”

With a groan, Richard asked, “Any chance of you forgetting that story?”

“Not a single one,” Thomas said, rather smugly. “So where are we going?”

“A place I know. Come on, this way.” Richard tilted his head to the left and they set off down the street. The streetlamps cast an orange glow across the wet cobbles.

“Can I ask why I had to pretend to be completely blitzed?”

“Oh, I just thought it best to leave the impression that we returned to Downton should anyone ask after us.”

“Well, aren’t you a deceptive one,” Thomas drawled with a note of approval. 

“I’ve learned that some deception can be prudent.”

“Is that so?”

Richard took a deep breath. “For men like us? Aye.”

There. He’d said it, no taking it back now. He watched Thomas's face, gauging his reaction. 

“Men like us?” Thomas queried, and Richard felt his stomach drop at the question.

This is what he’d feared; it was why pursuing anyone without knowing that the attraction was mutual was dangerous. If Thomas took offence at the implication of Richard’s words, then he could very well find himself in serious trouble. 

Richard felt trapped by the intensity of the look in Thomas's eyes, like he was studying him, pulling him apart at the seams. He could backtrack, try to talk his way out of it, but there was an ember of certainty within him; Thomas was interested. When Richard had asked if he wanted to go somewhere, he was positive that the true meaning of the invitation was understood. 

Knitting together all his courage, he met Thomas's eye and pushed his shoulders back. “Aye, I think you and I are the same, Thomas, and we’ve both learned to be circumspect as a result of being the way we are.”

Thomas's eyes widened, but he didn’t look surprised or angry. Instead, Richard thought he might be experiencing the same relief that was coursing through him at this exact moment. As he watched the shift in Thomas's expression, Richard’s anxiety gave way to giddiness. 

“Then I think we understand each other, Rich," Thomas said, lips curving up into a smile. 

“Indeed? That is a relief. Took all I had to say that to you.”

“You are far braver than I am, I’ll give you that.”

“It was worth the risk,” Richard said, leaning closer to Thomas. “Let’s go, aye?”

Thomas briefly inclined his head in agreement, and then they continued walking, the damp streets of York less busy than they had been earlier in the evening.

Richard wasn’t all too familiar with Coney Street, with its many businesses and warehouses crammed in along the river, but he managed to locate Turton’s down a narrow snickelway about halfway down the street. He checked over his shoulder discreetly to ensure no one was watching them and then led Thomas to the door, rapping lightly four times. The door opened quickly, light spilling out into the darkness, and they were gestured through by a man, who glanced up and down the snickelway. Once inside, the door was shut and barred behind them.

After walking through a dark vestibule, they emerged in a better-lit corridor, painted a sage green and interrupted by iron columns every ten meters. Boxes with unknown contents were scattered along the bases of the walls, and here and there, men were using the boxes as seats as they chatted and laughed with their companions. Richard removed his hat, and as they walked farther into the club, the tension left his shoulders. Beside him, Thomas was looking around in wonder. He, too, had removed his hat, causing some of his hair to come loose from its pomade, and it made him look younger. 

To their left, two men were wrapped up in each other, whispering back and forth, and then Richard watched as they melted into a passionate kiss. Not wanting to intrude, he looked away and caught Thomas's eye as he did the same. Richard suddenly felt a bit hot under the collar. He coughed out a laugh and Thomas grinned at him.

As they moved farther down the corridor, the music became louder, a lively jazz number featuring an excellent clarinetist. Finally they entered into the main area of the warehouse, at one side a makeshift stage where the band was set up and in the middle of the room, couples were dancing the Sugar Step.

They stopped and watched the dancers for a moment and then Thomas exclaimed, “I can’t believe this. I didn’t know there were places like this in York!”

“You just have to know the right people,” Richard replied with a smirk, and he cast his eyes around the space, finally alighting on a familiar figure. “Ah, and there he is now. Come on.”

Leading the way across the room, Richard pulled up at a barrel-cum-table where three men were chatting, drinks at hand, and clapped his hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “Ah, Fitzy, there you are,” he said, and leaning over to the other men, he added, “Don’t believe a word he says.”

Fitz turned around and gave a cry of delight, and Richard was pulled into an enthusiastic hug. Leland Fitzroy was nearing fifty, but had the energy and charisma of a man half his age, and had more friends than anyone Richard had ever met. The man seemed to know everyone. 

Richard returned the hug and then pulled back. “Good to see you, Fitz.”

“And you, Richie. Glad you made it!” His eyes then travelled to Thomas who was standing behind Richard, and he asked, “And who’s this, then?”

Stepping aside, Richard dared to place a hand at the small of Thomas's back to guide him forward to join the conversation. “Leland Fitzroy, meet Thomas Barrow. Thomas, this is Fitz.”

“Pleased to meet you, Thomas, and welcome,” Fitz said, looking Thomas up and down appreciatively. “Aren’t we lucky that Richie brought you tonight!”

At Fitzy’s attention, Thomas pressed himself into Richard’s side and Richard couldn’t help the possessiveness that wriggled dangerously in his mind. He couldn’t deny that he wanted Thomas as close as possible. Thankfully, Thomas seemed to have a similar idea, so he allowed his hand to trail across Thomas's back so that it rested just above his hip. At this point, he realised he’d lost track of the conversation, distracted as he was by Thomas's body pressed against his own, and he focused his attention back on what was being said.

“In London, certainly, but I never dreamt of finding something like this up here. Seems even wilder, somehow.”

“Are you familiar with the Caravan club?” Fitz asked, taking a sip of whatever drink his glass held.

Thomas shook his head. “By name only. I’ve not been out in London, or anywhere, in ages.”

Fitz reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and drew out a card, handing it to Thomas. “Next time you’re there, ask for Bobby. Tell him Fitzy sent you.”

“Thank you.” Thomas accepted the card, slipping it into the inner pocket of his coat.

Fitz grinned at them and then clapped his hands. “What are you doing? Off with the coats. Stay awhile!”

Laughing, they abandoned their coats and hats over a nearby barrel, then Richard left Thomas chatting with Fitz while he went to investigate the drink situation. Opposite the makeshift stage was a makeshift bar that seemed to be serving mostly gin concoctions. He ordered two gin rickeys and while they were being made, he turned so that he could see the floor. 

He hadn’t been to one of Fitzy’s parties in years, but the scene had not changed all that much. Here and there he recognised a face, but no one he knew very well. Had he been here alone, Richard doubted he would have lasted long, but with Thomas, it felt all that much more exciting, like it had when he first met Fitz as a naive 22-year-old. 

Through the sea of dancing bodies, Richard could see Thomas still at Fitz’s table. He was talking to a dark-haired man with a moustache, laughing at something that had just been said. The other man was leaning into Thomas's space, clearly flirting. This shouldn’t have been a surprise; after all, Thomas was easily the most attractive man here tonight, so of course the other men would be clamouring for his attention. Richard didn’t like it.

Accepting the gin rickeys from the man behind the bar, Richard wove back over to the table and manoeuvred in between them, holding one of the drinks out for Thomas, keeping his back to the other man. “For you,” he said to Thomas, holding his own drink up between them to clink the rims of their glasses together.

Thomas took a sip of his drink with a smirk. “I was having a conversation.”

“Oh, sorry to interrupt.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Richard admitted with a shrug. “So. . . here we are. What do you think?”

After taking a moment to survey the club, Thomas leaned against the barrel, relaxed and happy. “It’s still rather a surprise, but it feels good to be here. I haven’t been somewhere like this since I were in New York.” 

“New York?” Richard asked, surprised. “When did you travel there?”

Thomas glanced off in the distance, remembering. “Oh, five years ago or so. Lord Grantham went to visit Lady Grantham’s brother, who lives in the city, and I happened to be his valet at the time. Managed to explore a bit on my half-days.”

“And did you leave a trail of broken hearts across New York when you returned to England?”

Thomas huffed out a laugh and shook his head, and then broke into a self-satisfied smile. “It's possible.”

“Well, I am jealous of them all,” Richard admitted truthfully, knowing full well that it was ridiculous that he felt that way.

“Don’t be. They’re an ocean away. Besides, I’m sure you’ve got a host of men chasing after you in London?” Thomas asked, turning the tables on him, causing a flush to spread across Richard’s face.

“There aren’t too many, to be honest,” he said, and then with a sigh, “There hasn’t been anyone for a long time.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m rather glad you’ve not got someone special,” Thomas said, not looking remotely sorry about his loveless existence.

“Well, I do have my eye on someone.”

“Is that right? Maybe he’s got his eye on you, too. C’mon, let’s dance.” 

Thomas threw back the rest of his drink, shrugged out of his suit jacket, adding it to the pile of their belongings, and waited for Richard to do the same. He rushed to play catch up, quickly swallowing the remainder of the gin rickey, which tasted bitter as he gulped it down, and as he set down his jacket, Thomas caught his hand and pulled him out into the middle of the floor. The band was playing a quick breezy number, and the dancers were frolicking across the dancefloor. 

In his shirtsleeves and braces, Thomas looked dashing and free. It seemed like all eyes were on him, and Richard got a little thrill to be the one Thomas was pulling into his arms. Richard had always felt unsure when dancing, but Thomas moved confidently, like dancing was no effort whatsoever. Thomas held him close, guiding him through the steps with soft words and gentle touches, and then suddenly spun him around with before reeling him back in. Richard held on and did his best to keep up, still feeling awkward but caring less and less.

The song ended and Richard missed the final beat, stumbling to a stop after the final note of the music, held up by Thomas's arms. It was an embarrassing way to end, but he was too happy to be bothered, instead he laughed and pulled Thomas into a hug, revelling in the feeling of Thomas's chest vibrating with his own laughter.

“You put me to shame with your dancing,” Richard murmured into Thomas's ear, pressed together as they still were.

Thomas pulled his head back and protested, “No, you did well!”

“Nonsense. I stepped on your toes quite a few times.”

Thomas considered this and then his face split into a grin. “That’s true, but I still enjoyed it. Did you?”

“I did,” Richard agreed, running his hand across Thomas's shoulders as they swayed together on the dancefloor. The band had struck up a slower song and they had fallen into an easy box step. “You are a very good dancer.”

Looking pleased, Thomas said, “I’ve always enjoyed it, but being butler at Downton doesn’t provide many opportunities for dancing, not with a man. A Christmas dance with the Dowager just doesn’t compare.”

“No? The Dowager doesn’t do it for you?”

Thomas screwed up his face. “I will admit to admiring her fortitude. I mean, the old lady does not back down from a fight, but in terms of dance partners, I much prefer you.”

“Well, that is a compliment, to be sure,” Richard laughed and then, gazing down into Thomas's eyes, grew more serious. “I didn’t know how tonight was going to pan out, but dancing with you is as good as it gets, really.”

“I agree. Dancing with me is quite an honour,” Thomas said, eyes still dancing with mischief.

Richard shook his head, incredibly fond. “I am deeply honoured, Thomas.”

“Good.”

“And I would really like to kiss you.”

Thomas's hands tightened around his back and his eyes widened at the suggestion.

Richard continued, “But maybe not here.”

He was suddenly once again aware of how visible they were and the fact that Thomas was still gathering interest from the other men as the new, gorgeous face in the room. 

“Yes, let's go,” Thomas said, sounding like he was holding his breath.

This time, he was the one taking Thomas's hand and leading him off the dancefloor. They quickly gathered their belongings and Richard waved to Fitz across the room, indicating that they were leaving. Fitz blew them a kiss, followed by a wink, and turned back to the conversation he was having with the man next to him. 

Once they had thrown on their coats and hats, he and Thomas headed back out into the night. 

***

The streets were still and quiet at this hour.

Surrounded by the hushed atmosphere of the night, their quick footsteps echoed loudly in Richard’s ears. He was also aware of the harshness of his own breathing, so he attempted to calm himself so as not to draw attention to their escape through the streets of York. To his left, Thomas had his hands in his pockets and his chin tucked down, face hidden by the brim of his hat. The car was parked only a few streets over and yet it felt like it was taking an age for them to reach it.

Finally, they turned right onto New Street. In the distance, the car gleamed with the condensation forming in the cool night air after the warmth of the day, the individual droplets reflecting the light of the moon. It gave the illusion of the car shimmering with magic, perhaps as a welcome, as a celebration of what was about to take place within it.

The night felt full of anticipation. With each breath, he felt its molecules enter his lungs and invade his cells, circulating throughout his body so that every nerve ending felt alight with it. Richard had one goal in mind, and that was to reach the car within the next thirty seconds. If he didn’t, he might combust, desperate as he was to kiss Thomas. 

Finally. Finally they were there. 

Richard wrenched open the driver’s door and Thomas hurtled around to the passenger side, shedding a little light onto his own eagerness. Once both doors had closed, they sat facing forward, unmoving, their panting breaths the only sound disturbing the stillness around them. Richard’s hands shook slightly where they rested on the steering wheel. After a moment, he gathered himself and looked at Thomas, whose profile, distinctive and proud, was outlined in the dim light.

“Thomas.”

Thomas's eyes met his own, startled wide but imploring. The moment shifted and they were being pulled together as though by magnetic force. Richard felt himself falling forward without awareness of having told his body to move. Lifting his right hand, he rested his palm against Thomas's cheek in an effort to calm himself and reassure the other man. Thomas's skin was cool from their walk to the car but started to warm under the press of his fingers. 

In the end, it was Thomas who closed the distance between them, pressing his full lips to Richard’s own. Richard gasped at the contact and then returned the kiss, thrilled and terrified in equal measure. It was daring to be doing this with only the minimal cover of darkness and the Silver Ghost around them, but at least they were alone without the interested gaze of all the other men at Turton’s following them. This moment was theirs and theirs alone. 

Thomas's hands clutching at his shoulders, fingers restlessly flexing and releasing against the muscles of Richard’s arms, but his kiss was sure and finessed. Richard had a flash of jealousy over all the men who Thomas might have kissed previously, before reminding himself that it was him that Thomas was kissing now.

Cramped as they were by the confines of the car, Richard was struggling to press any closer to Thomas. The steering wheel was wedged against his hip and as he shifted to release the pressure of it, his right knee struck the gear shift and the sudden sting of contact forced him back from Thomas's lips, a laugh escaping his own. 

“Pure romance, this,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over the bruised knee.

Thomas laughed, unabashed and free; it echoed beautifully around the enclosed space of the car. Richard loved the sound of it and how it lit up Thomas's exquisite face. The difference between Mr Barrow, who had built up so many walls that he lived in an isolated tower and kept everyone at a distance with harsh words, disinterest and formality, and Thomas, a man so open, playful and desperate to be loved that he practically fell apart with kind words and gentle touches, was striking. Watching him laugh now, Richard decided that Thomas had been created for joy but as yet had experienced too little of it in his life. 

“Let’s go somewhere,” Richard suggested, adjusting himself behind the wheel.

“Where will we go?” Thomas asked.

“Somewhere where we are surrounded only by trees and stars, instead of streets full of flats where anyone might walk by.”

“That sounds heavenly.”

“It’s only as heavenly as the Yorkshire countryside, I’m afraid, which isn’t all that bad, considering,” he replied, and then looked at Thomas. “Is there anywhere on Downton’s grounds that’s hidden away?”

Instead of replying, Thomas just stared back at him and then he burst out laughing again, holding his stomach in delight. 

Richard grinned just watching him. “What’s so funny?”

“This!” Thomas gasped, attempting to pull himself together. “Well, not funny, bloody delightful is what it is. I just kissed you! And now we’re discussing where we can go to do it some more! Never in my life have I talked like this, with someone like me.”

Richard grinned in response. “It feels good, doesn’t it? To be open about it, like men who chase after women get to be.”

“Aye, it does.”

Richard gave into the desire to touch him again, reaching out to clasp Thomas's hand. “I won’t deny that I’ve enjoyed flirting with you tonight, not having to be careful about looking at you too long or saying something obvious. Instead, I can just tell you that you’re gorgeous and I cannot wait to kiss you again.”

“It’s strange to hear those things said about me," he said, a bashful smile spread across Thomas's face at his words and he turned his head away briefly before slanting his eyes back to Richard, “but I like it. And I feel like I should show more gratitude for what you’ve done for me tonight, opening up my eyes to what’s possible here in Yorkshire, not just in far-off places like Paris and Berlin.”

Richard shook his head, “No, Thomas, you don’t owe me any gratitude!”

“But I do, Rich. See, I’d all but given up on having anything like this, committed myself to a solitary life as a butler, and then you came along and reminded me that I’m not alone.”

“Men like us have to stick together,” Richard said quietly, running his thumb over Thomas's knuckles. “And can I say that I’m also feeling grateful tonight? You’re not the only one who’s felt very alone. Service is a hard life, particularly for us, but every once in awhile something happens to make it worth the while. And you, Thomas, are very worth the while.” With that, he leaned over to give him a quick, reassuring kiss. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

They sat for a moment, gazes locked by the intensity of those admissions, and then Thomas nodded, his fingers tightening around Richard’s own. Richard gave him a squeeze, then extracted his hand reluctantly, settling into the task of starting the car and pulling away from the kerb. 

They trundled along the cobblestone streets of York until they were free of the congested grip of the city and the Yorkshire countryside opened up around them. The drive back to Downton seemed longer than the drive out due to the increased anticipation he now felt. With Thomas so near, it required increased effort to keep the car on the road. Beside him, Thomas seemed relaxed and happy. He chatted about this and that, keeping Richard entertained as they travelled through the darkness.

As they neared Downton, Thomas told him about the estate and where they might park the car where it would be out of sight of both the village and the house. Richard followed his directions and they pulled into a secluded area inside the estate grounds, concealed by a row of hedges and a tall poplar tree. 

“Now what?” Thomas asked, his hands running along his thighs.

With a wicked grin, he said “I have an idea.” Richard pushed open his door and walked around the front of the car, stopping by the passenger door and pulling it open like a chauffeur. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

Thomas laughed. “Where are we going?”

“Not far.” 

In fact, it was less than three feet to their destination. Once Thomas had climbed out of the car, Richard shut the door after him and then opened the one behind it. 

“More space back here,” he explained. “Unless you want to be al fresco, but the grass might be a bit damp.”

“Are you proposing we defile His Lordship’s car?”

“He’ll never know, will he?”

Thomas smirked. “No, and we haven’t laboured in servitude for nothing. I believe we have the skills to ensure nothing looks out of place.”

“In that case, I am most definitely proposing that we defile His Lordship’s car,” Richard declared, throwing himself into the backseat. Thomas followed, closing the door behind him, sealing them in. 

Before Richard had even settled against the seat, he suddenly found himself pressed backward by the lithely muscled form of this surprising man. Thomas had moved quickly, pushing Richard back against the seat and settling his knees on either side of Richard’s legs. The press of Thomas's thighs around his own was enough to make him groan.

“Oh, you are a little minx, aren’t you?”

Thomas grinned down at him. “I know what I’m about.”

Daringly, Richard set his hands at Thomas's waist and leaned back to better take in the tableau in front of him. It was dim inside the car, but the nearly full moon provided enough light for him to see Thomas fairly well. His dark hair had come loose and it fell across his forehead, covering one eye so he had the look of some dangerous but seductive brigand. His fingers tightened reflexively around Thomas's hips. “I am sure you do,” he growled.

Above him, Thomas paused and looked away. “Only. . . it’s been quite some time since. . .” He shrugged then, seeming almost embarrassed, and Richard was struck by how young he looked in that moment. The usual mix of competence, swagger and haughtiness was swept away to be replaced by uncertainty. 

The pressing intensity of his desire all but shattered and Richard wanted nothing more than to pull Thomas into his arms and shelter him from any future harm. His heart ached with it.

Reaching up, he brushed back the shock of hair and ran his thumb along Thomas's sharp cheekbone. “My darling Thomas,” he sighed, as Thomas pushed his face into the pressure of Richard’s hand. “You are perfect.”

Thomas snorted. “I assure you, I am anything but.”

Richard shook his head. “You didn’t let me finish. You are perfect to me.”

“Well, you are full of sweet words.” It was meant to be disdainful, but Richard could hear the notes of pleasure in Thomas's voice and he was certain that if it was brighter in the car, he could have tracked a flush across his pale skin. 

“Just for you, love. Just for you,” he replied, pulling Thomas down in order to kiss him once more, and with a laugh, Thomas allowed himself to be reeled in. Richard thought he could spend the entire night kissing Thomas like this, slow and sweet, melting into each other here in the back seat of Lord Grantham’s car.

After not too long, Richard felt the heat building steadily between them once again, Thomas's weight settling heavily in his lap, the pressure of it too much and not enough at the same time. His hips rolled up to meet Thomas's of their own accord, and Thomas moaned into his mouth, causing him to do it again, this time purposefully pressing himself against Thomas in a few rhythmic thrusts. 

Thomas's hands fisted in the hair at the back of his head and he ground his hips down in response, so that the were moving in sync and gasping into each other’s mouths. Richard itched to get his hands on him fully, to touch his pale skin, elicit cries of pleasure and explore what made him fall apart. 

Pulling his mouth away, Richard attacked the other man’s tie, loosening the knot and throwing it away into the darkness of the car. When he returned his fingers to the top button of Thomas's shirt, the other man seemed to rouse into action, shrugging out of his overcoat and jacket and then setting to work on Richard’s garments with equal determination. 

Within seconds, Thomas pale chest was visible between the plackets of his shirt, trapped as they were under his braces. If they’d had more time and space, Richard would have relished the opportunity to undress him properly, but with the current confines placed upon them, he’d take what he could get. He gave into the temptation to touch Thomas's skin, cold fingers against his warm chest, Thomas sucking in a breath at the contact, and trailed his fingers from his collarbone to the waistband of Thomas's trousers, allowing his palm to settle on the obvious arousal within them. 

Thomas hissed and then gasped out, “Christ.” His hips pressing up into Richard’s hand wantonly.

Taking that as a sign to get on with it, Richard focused on undoing his flies to free Thomas's erection from his trousers. As he worked at it, Thomas mumbled incoherently above him, only serving to spur Richard on, his own arousal aching in response. At the sight of his hand around Thomas's prick, he had to press the heel of his free hand against himself lest he reach completion immediately. 

“You too,” Thomas panted out, as Richard began stroking him. 

Richard shook his head. “Later,” he said, too caught up with the feel of Thomas beneath his hand.

“No, I want to see you,” Thomas insisted, tugging at Richard’s shirt.

Reluctantly, Richard let go of Thomas, and between the pair of them they managed to push up his shirt and get his trousers open, Thomas greedily reaching inside to pull him out. The contrast between the cool air and the warmth of Thomas's hand was shocking and he broke into gooseflesh, shuddering with pleasure.

Regaining his wits, Richard sought out Thomas's mouth for a bruising kiss, feeling more intoxicated by this man than by any of the alcohol they’d consumed earlier. The kiss was gloriously messy and highly distracting. Richard pulled away, breathing harshly, and pressed his forehead to Thomas's instead, allowing him to focus on getting Thomas off. 

They found a steady rhythm between them, hands flying over sensitive flesh, their gasps and moans sounding loud and obscene. Richard was desperate to draw this out, make it last, for he didn’t know when he would be able to touch Thomas so freely again, but he could feel himself approaching orgasm, unable to hold back under Thomas's ministrations. 

“Oh, God, Thomas,” he groaned, leaning back against the seat and pressing his eyes closed, hand stuttering ineffectively on Thomas's prick. 

“Yes, yes,” Thomas chanted, speeding up the movement of his hand. “Let go, Rich, please.”

It was the ‘please’ that sent Richard over the edge, like Thomas was begging him to come. He gasped out his release, forgetting Thomas's need completely, and instead anchored both of his hands to Thomas’s hips in order to keep himself from floating away with sheer satisfaction. Eventually, he came back together, aware that Thomas was working him through it with gentle strokes. 

Cracking open his eyes, he gazed up at Thomas, dopey grin on his face. “That was marvellous.”

“Yeah?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to the side, a pleased look on his face.

“Yes, it was. Now come ‘ere, let me return the favour.” He looped an arm around Thomas's lower back, pulling him forward, and grasped Thomas's prick once more, pumping him earnestly now. Thomas gasped and steadied himself with both hands on the seat behind Richard’s head. It didn’t take long before Thomas was groaning and spilling over his hand, and he collapsed against Richard, pinning his arm between them.

“Jesus Christ,” Thomas said at last, levering himself up, still breathing hard. “What a way to end the night!”

“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” Richard murmured, placing his freed hand onto Thomas’s stomach as it moved in and out with his harsh breaths, tracing his sticky fingers across the warm skin. “For the record, I did too.”

Thomas snorted out a surprised laugh. “Good,” he said and clambered off his lap in an uncoordinated fashion. 

They put themselves to rights, still giggling as they sought out abandoned articles of clothing. Thomas smoothed his hair back into place with sure hands after he’d put on his jacket, overcoat still lying somewhere on the floor of the car, and Richard immediately missed him in an undressed state; with every button, it had felt like a barrier was reforming between them, one imposed on them by the unfriendly world. 

Once they’d looked over the car to ensure nothing gave away their amorous activities, they sat side-by-side on the backseat. Richard was reluctant to move or speak, not wanting to put an end to their night together. Thomas seemed equally unwilling for it to end. He reached over to take Thomas's hand, smoothing his fingertips across the soft leather that covered his palm. 

Thomas tipped his head over on the seat to look at him. “I suppose we should be getting back.” 

“Yes, I know,” Richard sighed. “Is it ridiculous to wish that we could stay here forever?”

Thomas gave him a bemused smile. “I think they’d notice the missing car eventually, but it’s a nice fantasy nonetheless.”

Thomas's words soothed him slightly, and he shifted over so that they were mere centimeters apart. “I shall miss kissing you.”

“Well, do it once more before we have to go.”

Richard did as he was bid.

The garage was dark when they returned to the house. Not wanting to wake the chauffeur, they left the vehicle outside and walked through the dark of night to the kitchen door. Given the hour, it was locked, but Thomas produced a set of keys and let them inside, locking it again once the door was closed. 

The corridor was silent and dark. Thomas took his hand and guided him unerringly to the staircase and they made their way up and up and up. Before they exited the stairs into the servants’ quarters, Richard tugged on Thomas's hand to stop him. 

“Can we say good night here?” he whispered.

On the step above, he felt rather than saw Thomas turn around. His hand was suddenly on Richard’s jaw, startling him briefly before he relaxed into the touch. Richard wanted him closer, so he entwined his arms around Thomas's waist, pulling him into an embrace and pressing his face into Thomas's chest. Thomas's arms curled around his shoulders and Richard felt him press a kiss onto the top of his head.

“Good night, Rich.” 

Extricating himself from the hug, he tried to regain his composure. “Good night, Thomas.”

Then they stepped into the corridor and Richard had to leave Thomas in order to walk to his own door. He wished it wasn’t so damn dark so that he might have one final glimpse of the other man. As it was, he had to settle for simply knowing Thomas was not far away as he readied himself for bed.

Despite the late hour, it took Richard a long time to fall asleep. Instead he replayed their evening together, seeing it flash across his mind like he was at the pictures.

***

Thomas wasn’t at breakfast the following morning. Richard stared at his empty chair as the others chatted around him, wondering why he wasn’t there, where he was instead, and if he was okay. A lump of unease settled in his stomach as the cook's assistant went round the table and poured tea. 

Some minutes later, a footman whose name Richard did not know asked the question at the forefront of his mind:

“Where is Mr Barrow?”

It was Mrs Hughes who answered. “He is having breakfast in his room this morning.”

“Is he all right, Mrs Hughes?” Anna asked, voice tinged with concern.

“Oh, yes, Anna, perfectly fine, but I don’t think we should be discussing Mr Barrow’s private matters at the breakfast table.”

That put a firm stop to further questions about Thomas's absence but did nothing to settle Richard's mind. Various other conversations sprung up around the table — the lower Downton staff were discussing the success of the dinner the night before, and at the other end of the table, Mr Wilson was engaged with Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes about the misunderstanding with the royal footman. Richard kept his head down so as not to give away anything about his role in that mystery.

He ate quickly, preoccupied by his concern over Thomas's whereabouts. After their night together, Richard had been eagerly anticipating that moment of seeing him across the breakfast table. He didn’t know what it meant that Thomas hadn’t turned up this morning, although he didn’t imagine it could be anything good. He finished the remainder of his tea and forced down a final bite of toast. 

A bell rang on the wall behind Mr Carson, indicating one of the family needing attention, and the meal was quickly abandoned, with staff exiting the hall to attend their various duties. Richard rose slowly to follow, still feeling off-kilter, only to be held up by Mr Wilson gruffly telling him to be ready to depart shortly.

Keen as he was to seek out Thomas, Richard dutifully returned to his bedroom and packed up his belongings, taking less care than he usually would. Snapping his luggage shut, he cast one final glance around the room to ensure nothing was left behind. Satisfied that everything was packed, he put on his hat and overcoat and collected his bags from the bed. 

The corridor was empty and silent. It seemed he was the only one without responsibilities this morning; everyone else was either still below stairs or attending to the King and Queen or the members of the Crawley family. 

Except for Thomas. His absence was driving Richard mad. 

As he walked towards the stairs, he passed Thomas's door and paused. The name plate read ‘Mr Barrow’ in a fine, curling script. Deliberating for only a moment, Richard set down a suitcase and knocked softly on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, pressing his ear closer to listen for any movement within. When there was again no answer, he eased the door open to peer into an empty room. Richard sighed.

Frustration and disappointment building, he set off through the house to the front hall, where he was relieved of his bags by one of the footmen so they could be brought out to the waiting cars. The royal household would continue on to Harewood, but Richard and Ms Lawton would be dropped at the station to travel back to London to prepare for the return of the King and Queen three days hence. The prospect of the return journey filled him with apprehension.

As he returned to the foyer, he heard Lord Grantham’s voice coming from the direction from the drawing room.

“Early warning, Their Majesties are getting ready to leave.”

“Very good, my Lord,” came the reply. Richard immediately recognised the deep voice of Mr Carson, who marched through the door to the downstairs, and Richard followed after the old usurper.

As he descended the stairs, he could see most of the Downton staff gathered at the bottom, listening as Mr Carson announced that the King and Queen were about to leave. Upon hearing this pronouncement, they burst into excited chatter and followed Mr Carson back up to take their positions outside the front door. Richard took in their faces as they filed past him, paying him no mind whatsoever, too caught up in the imminent departure of the royal family. Thomas was not among them, so Richard waited until the last of the servants had made their way upstairs so that he could continue down to seek out the elusive butler.

Their voices faded as the door closed behind them and Richard was left in the peculiar silence of a space usually dominated by the hustle and bustle of servitude. Was Thomas hiding down here, alone? What if he wasn’t, and Richard was forced to leave without saying goodbye? He didn’t have long, perhaps less than ten minutes before the King and Queen would be ready to depart.

Rushing along, he glanced into the boot room as he passed, but it was empty. As was the servants’ hall. Richard continued down the corridor to the butler’s office, and steeling himself for the disappointment of yet another empty room, he looked around the doorframe. 

Thomas was seated at his desk, once again in his livery, his hair carefully slicked back. At finally seeing him, momentary relief flooded Richard’s body, followed by a rush of nerves. Stepping into the room, he closed the door behind him. Thomas raised his head at the sound and smiled at Richard, warm and unreserved.

“I was hoping you’d come find me,” Thomas said, placing the ledger he’d been reading down on the desk in front of him.

Richard stared at him. “You weren’t at breakfast.” He struggled to keep the accusation out of his voice. The other man did not appear regretful, and his words made it very clear that he was pleased to see Richard. However, Richard was still perplexed. “Why?”

“Was my chipper disposition missed at the breakfast table?”

“Your absence was noted, by the others and by me,” Richard said, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

In front of him, Thomas looked slightly abashed, a faint flush spreading across his pale cheeks. “I suppose I were, in a way, but not for the reasons you might assume.”

His stomach clenched. “Care to enlighten me?”

Thomas levered himself out of the chair and came to stand in front of him, idly playing with the strap of his leather glove. “I feared that if I sat across from you like it were any other day, then I wouldn’t be able to look at you or talk with you without giving away something of my feelings for you. I didn’t want the others to know. And some of them, despite my best efforts over the years to keep them at arm’s length, can read me like an open book. They’d see me going all soppy over you and they’d know.”

At this admission, Richard felt a smile spreading across his face, the worry that he’d carried with him all morning falling away in an instant. “Now I wish you had turned up at the table. I would have loved to see you go all soppy.”

“Well, I do believe you’re seeing it right now. Consider me the human embodiment of soppiness.” 

But something about the way Thomas held himself, head ducked down and shoulders slightly hunched, made Richard think that he wasn’t quite comfortable with this admission, that he didn’t yet believe that this type of happiness could be his.

Taking a step closer, Richard reached out a tentative hand, worried that Thomas might rebuff any physical contact now that they were back at the Abbey, but Thomas's fingers curled solidly around his own. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m equally soppy over you.”

“Is that so?” Thomas glanced up at him, a smirk playing around his mouth.

For a moment they simply looked at each other. Richard’s eyes roved over Thomas's face, drinking in the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, the smooth alabaster skin and its contrast with his dark hair, the unfathomable depths of his eyes. Though he first looked upon this face only three days ago, he felt that it was as familiar to him as his own and that he would never tire of the sight. Because of this close scrutiny, he noticed when a minute change came over Thomas's expression.

“What is it?”

Thomas tilted his head to the side, considering. “We will keep in touch, won’t we?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Even when you’re back in London?”

“Even then.” 

Thomas nodded, as though it had been decided. “Good, that’s good. I feel as though I’ve finally found a friend.”

Now it was Richard’s turn to smirk. “A friend? Is that what you’ve found?”

Thomas gave a flirtatious shrug of his shoulder. “Amongst other things.”

Leaning in, Richard stole a quick kiss, causing Thomas to laugh brightly.

“It seems to me, Mr Barrow, that you have some friends here as well.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “It’s easier to pretend otherwise.”

Richard huffed out a laugh, full of fondness for this delightful but prickly man.“So which member of the Downton staff were you worried about at breakfast? Miss Baxter?”

Thomas nodded. “Phyllis has known me for far too long, and as a result, I can’t hide anything from her. And then there’s Anna, who is frustratingly perceptive, but worst of all is Mrs Hughes.”

“Mrs Hughes, really?” This revelation explained so much about Thomas's behaviour around her before they had left for York the day before.

“Aye, somehow she can sense all my secrets. I saw her this morning and could tell that she knew something had happened, so I asked her if I might have breakfast up in my room, embarrassed as I was being caught out by her. If I’m being honest, she’s been more of a mother to me than my own ever was,” Thomas admitted, fingers tangling desperately in Richard’s own. “Rich, I never thought people would care about me. It was always easier to assume I’d be alone, but I have to admit that it feels good to be proven wrong.”

Richard could see how much it cost Thomas to say those words and his heart broke for the Thomas that spent so many years feeling alone and unloved. His grip tightened on Thomas’s hand, as though by a forceful touch he could demonstrate just how much Richard adored him. “Oh, Thomas,” he started but found he could say no more.

Inspired by the depth of his feelings in that moment, he extracted his hand from Thomas's grip and slipped his fingers under the collar of his shirt, tugging at the fine silver chain that hung there. Pulling the chain over his head, the pendant slipped free of his shirt, glinting even in the dim light of the office. “Here, I want you to have this. It’s not much, but I’ve had it for years.”

Thomas's eyes went wide and he extended a hand, gingerly taking the necklace from Richard. He rubbed a thumb over the raised edges of the crescent moon. “Where did you get it? A family heirloom?”

Richard smiled gently and shook his head. “I bought it in a market in Cyprus, on my first trip abroad as part of the royal household. As a Yorkshire lad, I never thought I’d see any part of the world beyond the hills of northern England, so when I found myself in the middle of such a new and exotic place, I bought something to mark the moment, and I’ve worn it ever since. Now it’s yours, and it’ll remind you of me until we meet again.”

Thomas stared at the necklace for a moment longer and then said, voice thick with emotion, “Thank you.” 

“Here, let me.” Richard took the necklace back and held it up so that he had it the right way round, before placing it over Thomas's head, the pendant coming to rest upon his black tie. Seeing it worn by someone else, by his Thomas, Richard felt his eyes sting, and he pressed his palm against it where it lay.

“Wait,” Thomas said suddenly, stepping back around his desk and shuffling paper to the side, picking something up and hiding it in his hand as he returned to stand in front of Richard once again. He held out his lighter, the one Richard had used to light his cigarette during that first real encounter between them in the courtyard. 

“That’s been me light in the darkness, that has.”

Richard accepted it, feeling the weight of it in his hand and turning it over to examine the silver casing more closely than the last time he’d held it. It was fairly simple and plain but for an engraving on one side — _T.E.B._

“What does the ‘E’ stand for?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over the three letters.

“Elliot.”

“Thank you, Thomas Elliot Barrow,” Richard said, enjoying the sound of Thomas's full name as it fell from this tongue. The ironic nature of this gift suddenly struck him as humorous “You know, I don’t actually smoke, but I shall cherish this nonetheless.”

“You don’t? But the other day. . .”

Richard laughed and pocketed the lighter. “An excuse to be near you.” 

Thomas's answering laugh rang out, and Richard couldn’t help but reel him in for another kiss, cradling his lovely face between his hands.

After a moment, Thomas pulled back. “Do you have a middle name?”

“Yes, I do,” Richard said, distractedly running his hands down Thomas neck to his chest. “It’s David.”

“Richard David Ellis,” Thomas murmured, almost to himself.

If it had been up to him, Richard could have remained in that moment for the rest of his days, relishing the feeling of being in Thomas's embrace, but he was all too aware of the seconds ticking by and the fact that he would need to leave soon, for if he were not in the waiting car when Their Majesties were ready to depart, not only would he receive an earful from Mr Wilson but someone would surely be sent to seek him out, interrupting their goodbyes.

“Thomas, I must go.”

“I know.”

Richard leaned his forehead against Thomas's, loath to step away a second before he had to. “Until we meet again.”

“Until then,” Thomas replied with a sigh.

With a final quick kiss and lingering glance, Richard forced himself to walk out of the office and up the stairs, the beginning of his journey back to Buckingham Palace and away from Thomas. 

***

Richard flipped the lighter end over end, finding a nice rhythm as it made contact with the windowsill of the compartment. It was already a confident move, like he’d had it in his possession for years rather than the two hours it had been since Thomas had gifted it to him. 

His attention was fixed on the engraved initials as they turned around with each flip of the lighter. 

_T.E.B._

The lighter, for all its simplicity, was tangible proof that the rather extraordinary events of the last twenty-four hours had actually occurred and had not been an invention of his imagination or a very vivid daydream. 

Now, as the train rumbled back to London, he was glad that he and Ms Lawton had been seated in separate compartments so that he did not have to maintain a facade of professional courtesy. As it was, his compartment was full, but the three passengers who joined him were not interested in speaking with him, so he was able to remain lost in his head, meandering through the memories of his time with Thomas as the train wove through the countryside.

When he was younger, being a part of the royal household had been a thrilling adventure, but as he got older, it just felt lonelier, especially since Uncle Johnny had passed away. For a long time, he had been questioning how long he could maintain this lifestyle, and if he wanted to at all. Every time he visited his childhood home, it was harder to leave Yorkshire behind when it was time to return to work. He was torn between the professional desire to advance his position and the regret over moving away and leaving his family behind. And now Thomas was an equally strong tether tying him back to Yorkshire, already pulling at him as he travelled farther away. Some might say he was a fool for considering leaving his position, but he couldn’t help wonder if there was something else on the cards for him, something more. Perhaps back in York.

Holding Thomas's lighter, Richard was now faced with the overwhelming possibility that he had found that something _more_. More than the occasional dalliances and secret trysts that had peppered the last ten years of his life. More than the stifling loneliness he often felt surrounded by the isolation of the royal household. After all, under the precise boundaries that he’d constructed around his life, there had always been a beat of hope.

Now, holding proof that Thomas held him in his regard, a shiver ran down Richard’s spine and a smile spread across his face. He cupped the lighter tightly in his hand and pressed it to his mouth, attempting to hide his giddiness from the curious eyes of the other passengers.

He wondered if it was too soon to write to Thomas tonight so that he could get a letter posted first thing in the morning. There was still so much to say between them; there simply hadn’t been time to say it all. Letters would have to tide them over until he was next able to visit York. Or perhaps Thomas could come to London?

He settled back in his seat and started drafting a letter in his head:

_Dearest Thomas. . . _


End file.
